MD3: Cross Purposes
by Concolor44
Summary: [Sequel to "Meltdown"] With three armies gathering on Arendelle's borders, Elsa hardly has the time or luxury to take a deep breath, much less explore this new and exciting thing called "marriage". But she'll make the time. Assuming, of course, that she lives. Elsa/OC, Kristanna
1. Prologue

**Cross Purposes**

by Concolor44

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 _ **Author's Supplemental Note:**_

 _ **To those of you who were following this story before, please allow me to apologize (again) for the experimental nature of my yarn-spinning. Trying new things is a failing of mine. I was going for something along the lines of the way the movie "Vantage Point" was done, but the execution lacked quite a bit of finesse. So I've taken it down for re-write.**_

 _ **The plot will remain basically unchanged. I will be adhering (mostly) to chronological order. Hopefully that will greatly reduce the levels of confusion that have arisen around this story.**_

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 _ **This is the original**_ _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **My Muse has finally gotten around to this sequel to "Meltdown" (although technically, I guess this would be the sequel to "Melted", since Carlos and Elsa are already married in this one). I debated with myself as to whether I should post the chapters as I write them, or finish it and then post on a regular schedule. It wasn't really much of a debate, though. The last time I tried that (with "Inviolate") I'd planned to post one chapter a week, but ended up posting one or two a day. That didn't give readers enough time to absorb things so they could comment, and some had trouble keeping up. I didn't want to do that again. So here's the first chapter.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

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 _Standard Disclaimer …_

 _Given:_

 _\- I have no official connection in any capacity with "Frozen" or Disney/Pixar_

 _\- I realize no profit of any kind from this story_

 _\- The Powers That Be at Disney/Pixar have no knowledge of, nor do they acknowledge in any way, this story_

 _\- Only the plot of this story, and any incidental characters, belong to me_

 _Then:_

 _\- I request that Disney/Pixar not get their panties in a twist over this little diversion, because …_

 _\- Being flat broke, it won't do them any good to sue me, and therefore …_

 _\- Everyone just sit back, relax, and enjoy the story (if tales of this stripe are your thing)_

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. . .

. . .

 **Prologue**

 **(A Recap of Some Events Occurring at the End of Our Previous Story)**

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 _Monday 20 September 1841_

Anna gazed after her departing sister for a moment, hiding a grin at her discomfiture. Then she turned back to their 'visitors', her eyes flicking between Morana and Nicolai Petrov. Gesturing at him, she asked, "What do I do with him?"

A lascivious grin growing, Morana said, "You really want some pointers? He's got a lot of repressed anger that comes out as-"

"… Ew! Ew-ew-ew! No! That is _not_ what I meant!"

"Ha! I'm only teasing. I know how you feel about your Prince."

"Good. So … what do I …"

"If it were up to me, I'd find an empty room somewhere and install him there. He'll be a formidable addition to the Queen's Own Guard, if they can hold off killing him long enough to get to know him."

"I think Carlos sorta knows him already, and he seems to like him well enough. Maybe he could put in a good word?"

"Sure. We'll go with that." She rubbed her hands together and said, "Well, I'm off."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm going to get my husband back from that mortal bimbo he's shacked up with."

"… Oh!"

"Yeah. And this time I think I've got a decent chance of keeping him."

"Well … okay. Good luck with that."

"Thanks." And she vanished.

Nicolai blinked twice and focused on Anna. "Princess?"

She took a half-step back, her hand going to her ice-crystal pendant. "Mr. Petrov."

"Am I … am I in Arendelle again?"

"Yes."

He nodded to himself. "Well and good." Standing straight, he said, "I would offer my services to your Good Lady Queen."

"Yeah, that's what Morana said you might do." She gave her head a jerk. "Follow me."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Friday 24 September 1841_

Anna looked up from where she stood behind a tall table, immediately whipping her right hand around behind her back and dropping something small that clicked on the floor. "Kristoff! Hi! What – what brings you here?"

Briefly, he studied the objects arrayed on the table: a basin of water with a washcloth, a thin paring knife, a dagger that looked as if it were made of ice, a small clock, a cheese grater, a loaded pin-cushion, a cleaver, and several towels, one of which had some large blood stains. Drawing a long breath, he said, "This? Again, with this? You told me you'd stop doing this!"

"I did not. I … said I'd cut back."

"The important word there being 'cut'. And that's not how I remember the conversation." Moving closer to stand opposite her, he said, "Let's see that hand."

She bit her lower lip, not meeting his eyes. "Um …"

He stalked around the table and not-un-gently pulled her right hand out where he could see it. Three long tacks protruded from her palm, each surrounded by a tiny bit of blood. Swallowing hard and looking away, he choked out, "Anna!"

"It doesn't hurt! Really! Not … not much, anyway. And not for long." Three quick pulls had them out, and she tossed them onto the bloody towel.

His eyes fell to that towel, then moved to the other items. He noticed blood on the ice dagger and the cheese grater. "Anna … why are you doing this, and how can I get you to stop?"

She was still looking anywhere but at her Prince. "I'm … curious. That's all."

"But you already know you can heal. You know how fast, even. Isn't that enough? I can't … it's too … Anna, I can't stand the thought of you being hurt!"

"But …" Her voice almost trembled. "It doesn't really. Much."

Taking her hands in his, he closed his eyes and pulled a long breath in through his nose. "Sweetheart … I love you."

"I know."

"Can you understand how seeing sharp objects sticking out of you might not be my favorite thing?"

"Well … yeah. But …"

"Anna, please. For me?"

She turned his question over in her mind. Truthfully, his request frustrated her. She didn't want to stay in the dark about her abilities. She wanted to explore them, test them, even push them. She was glad he hadn't come in when she'd had that long ice dagger buried in her gut. He probably would have fainted. "Kristoff … how about if I get Doctor Odum to help?"

"What do you mean, help?"

"He can watch. He's a doctor. He'd be right there if anything went wrong."

"If you don't cut yourself in the first place, nothing _can_ go wrong."

"But … I want to learn about it."

"Anna, please! What is there left to learn?" He stepped behind her, wrapped her in his arms. "If you get cut, it'll bleed a little and then heal up tight in ten minutes or so. If you get burned, that takes a little longer, but you don't even scar, and …"

"Kristoff … all I can say is that I'm sorry. What do you _expect_ me to say? This is how I feel."

"And this is how _I_ feel! It totally creeps me out! You'd react the same way if you saw _me_ with knives stuck in my arm, and you can't tell me you wouldn't."

She had a sudden inspiration. Both of her hands raised to curl around his forearms, fingers tapping against his muscles. "You want me to be safe."

"Of course I –"

She spun in his embrace and met his gaze with an intense one of her own. "Then you should _want_ me to do this."

"… What?"

"Because the more I do it, the better I get at it."

One of his eyebrows climbed incredulously. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"You said it was taking me ten minutes or so to heal, but that's not so anymore. It's faster. It's like building a muscle or something!" Striding to the table, she removed her pendant necklace, spun the clock so they could see it, picked up the ice dagger and turned to face him. "Watch."

"Anna, no!" He started toward her.

She plunged the blade completely through her right forearm, wincing at the sharp pain.

Kristoff skidded to a halt, revulsion flooding his face. "AAAIIIIGHHH!"

Yanking the dagger back out, Anna dispassionately watched as the wound closed, the bleeding stopped, the scabs formed and turned dark and fell off. The entire process had occupied about a hundred seconds.

A hesitant finger came Anna's way. She didn't move. He traced down where the scar had faded. "Whoa."

" _That's_ what I'm _talkin'_ about."

"And it doesn't hurt?"

"Not even a little. You see? Now … I don't know if I'm … well, _unkillable_ or anything, but right now I'm pretty damned durable. And it's because I've been practicing."

"Anna … the thought of you being hurt twists me up in knots."

"That's why I think this is important."

"No, you don't understand. It's … it's the thinking about it."

"… Huh?"

"You're … you're _practicing_ to get hurt. That's all I can think about. You're planning to … to _need_ this ability. You're _expecting_ for something horrible to happen to you! And it's the thinking about it … the anticipation … and you already went through that _once_ , and …"

"Oh, Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." Suddenly she understood. It wasn't what she was doing, it was the _associations_ he made _because_ of it. Taking his face in her two hands, she gave him her most genuine, winning smile. "I would _never_ want to make you worry. You deserve better than that."

The look he gave her embodied several questions.

She shook her head, her gentle smile turning into a wry grin. "We'll have to talk this out. I can tell. I need all the details you're concerned about. You need all my reasons for doing it. We'll work through it. I promise."

He gave her a long, quiet stare, finally sighing. "If you say so."

"We will. Trust me."

Eyeing his bride warily, he slowly nodded. "Okay. But we still have a lot of talking to do."

"I know."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Tuesday 28 September 1841_

Maria Cristina, the recently-deposed Regent of Spain, sat primly in the parlor of her Paris apartments, and took a discreet sip of her tea. "So you have been given lately to understand," she said, carefully studying the map laid out on the table between her and her two visitors, "that this self-styled Snow Queen holds her younger sister in the highest regard?"

The men, one old and one young, both nodded assent. "That is correct, Excellency."

"Why?"

"They have been close since early childhood, as I heard the tale."

"And the younger has no designs on the throne? None at all?"

"The elder was groomed for the position," explained the white-haired man, his bright blue eyes showing his amusement. "The Princess Anna, let us say, has no aptitude for ruling. She is a populist."

"A populist? And the Queen allows this in a member of the royal family? I've heard of being indulgent, but that is simply inexcusable!"

The younger man cleared his throat again. "As I understand the situation, Queen Elsa is secluded much of the time, and so –"

"I have heard that, yes." She interrupted, tilting her head, birdlike, as she studied him. "Are you new with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs? I have been trying to place you, and failing."

"I am new in this department, Excellency. I've been with the Ministry for more than five years."

"What was that other man's name? du Pont, was it? d'Espèrey's attaché, wasn't he? He always had a unique approach to things. Why isn't he here?"

The older man answered smoothly, "Mssr. du Pont is currently in hospital with broken legs. He had an, ah, unfortunate accident. He was run down in the street by a wagon."

She sat back the tiniest bit, eyeing him keenly. "… Was he, now."

"Yes."

She ruminated on that for a bit, finally shaking herself loose. "Well … accidents do happen, don't they?"

"Quite." He let slip not a word about the truth of the matter, which was that Mssr. du Pont had objected strongly to Minister Thiers's plan, declaring that the Snow Queen would never be coerced. His stance had been viewed as disloyal.

The younger man picked up the conversation and dusted it off. "It is Princess Anna who is the Queen's voice among the people. The common men love her, and because of that, they tolerate Elsa."

Snorting delicately, Maria Cristina dismissed the concept with the wave of a carefully manicured hand. "Mssr. Cardin … royalty exists to _rule_ , not to be _tolerated_. I will show General Espartero the truth of that maxim, once I get my throne back. Bloody Liberal." She paused for another sip. "Is her position so precarious? The tales are fanciful, but in one version she had accidentally caused some sort of snow storm, though that seems an exaggeration. That, apparently, is how she earned her 'Snow Queen' title. One would imagine that the rabble would think twice, and twice again, before risking her anger … assuming there's any truth to it."

"Ah … well, as to that …" He glanced over at the elder ambassador, who gave a tiny shrug. "Her control over the weather is reported to be quite, ah, profound." Fingers drummed the arm of the chair for a moment. "Do you know, Excellency, that our beloved capitol, indeed, all our western reaches, are still feeling the effects of that monstrous storm last winter?"

"… Yes." She gave a tiny frown at the non-sequitur. "Yes, I've heard all about the damage here, frequently in exhausting detail. It was nothing compared with Spain's suffering. Every port from Bilbao to Cadiz lost ships. Portugal was all but leveled. What of it?"

"That same storm came to Arendelle. Queen Elsa directed it around the kingdom. They took no hurt."

"… What? … None?"

"None."

The ex-Regent gave him a totally nonplussed look. "You cannot be serious."

"I have researched the history of the events surrounding her coronation, and have corroborated the stories of all her exploits since then. She did, truly, keep her land unscathed. They lost not one shingle, ripped not one sail. She can call weather at will, make it snow, create strong winds … or stop them."

Maria Cristina considered this information for a moment. "How does she do it?"

"We don't know. It has been confirmed, though, that she is no sorceress. She was born with this power."

"She could … she could bury enemy armies in snow! Blow their ships off course. Or wreck them if she felt like it. She could make your military forces all but invincible! Does Louis Phillipe know of this?"

"He was informed. He dismissed my report as nonsense."

"Eh. I can't quite claim to be surprised. If it doesn't involve his appetite for food or women … well. His loss."

"I quite agree."

"So … Then, why have you not taken … Oh, I see. Like fire, she would make a useful servant, but a fearsome master."

"Correct. I have no desire to bring her wrath down on my homeland."

"Understandable. I'd feel the same way. So what is the point of our having this conversation?"

"As we discussed, the Queen holds her sister in extremely high regard."

"Yes? And?"

"If we could gain control of the sister, we would have control of the Queen."

A series of blinks preceded a frown, which then morphed into a look of puzzlement. She contemplated her teacup for a few heartbeats. "I can see how that might be true. But, like you gentlemen, I have no wish for my kingdom to be destroyed. I doubt that being buried under several ells of snow would do Spain any good, nor can I see the Snow Queen forgiving such an affront."

"Correct. That is why we'd like for you to do this as a representative of Austria."

It took several seconds, but at length the predatory smile on her face matched the glitter in her eye. "Oh, _very_ good."

"We are even now working to establish an embassy in Arendelle proper. It will do nicely as a beachhead for our, ah, purposes."

"Minister Thiers … you gentlemen have intrigued me. And if what you say is true, her aid could soon put me back on the throne where I belong."

They glanced at each other again, the same thought running through both their minds: _"Among other things."_

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 _Thursday 30 September 1841_

Cardinal Papella's midday meal was waiting on him at his desk, still warm under a lid that kept heat in and flies out. He went to the rack on one wall and chose a bottle of wine, then moved over to the sideboard. This morning's negotiations had left him sorely in need of a drink. Damned Austria. He cared not a whit for their interference in Florence's plans, but they should damn well leave the Papal States alone.

He inspected a wine glass for stains or dirt, nodded, and set it on the table. Fishing his corkscrew out of a drawer, he soon had the bottle open and a glass poured. He downed half of it at a swallow, smacked his lips, and topped off the glass. Then he turned back to his desk … and nearly dropped the wine.

"Good afternoon, Your Eminence."

He'd heard nothing, seen nothing, yet this rather formidable-looking man was now seated on the other side of his desk. The old man squinted at his unexpected visitor, judging the distance to the pull-bell by the door that would bring two guards running. "And who might you be?"

"My identity is not important. I represent the Guild."

Papella almost dropped his glass again, and stared suspiciously into its depths.

"Please. If I wanted you dead, you'd never have known I was here. Give me some credit for professionalism."

"Very well." A trembling hand set the wine next to his food. "Why, then, _are_ you here?"

"When you contacted us, you claimed that Elsa of Arendelle was a witch."

"… I … well, yes. Only a witch could do what she can do."

"Or a sorcerer, perhaps?"

Papella waved that off. "Same thing."

"It isn't, you know."

"The end effect is the same. They have damned themselves."

The assassin toyed with a thin gold chain he wore around his neck. "Elsa of Arendelle is no witch."

"But …"

"She is much, much more powerful than that."

"… I'm sorry … what, exactly, do you mean?"

Sighing, the man crossed his legs at the ankle. "You didn't bother to check your assumptions. Witches are nothing like sorcerers. Sorcery requires aid from the Underworld, the exchange of a soul for power. Witchcraft is nothing more than the careful manipulation of forces already present in our world, something anyone with time and a thirst for knowledge can achieve. Learning natural medicine will no more damn your soul than will that glass of wine."

"So … so then she's a sorceress."

"No."

"But you said …"

"We have ways of detecting and neutralizing sorcery. Don't imagine that you are the first person to ever have a grudge against a wielder of black magic. The Snow Queen's power is neither witchcraft nor sorcery."

Papella grasped at the concept, but it eluded him. "I don't understand."

"What we have determined is that Elsa is the living avatar of one of the ancient goddesses of winter, most probably Morana."

"… Who?"

The man gave a snort of derision. "And you call yourself learned."

The Cardinal decided he'd had about enough of that attitude. Huffing slightly, he lowered himself into his chair and lifted the cover off his lunch. "Well since you seem to know everything about everything, enlighten me."

"There are other forces, other planes of existence – and I don't mean only your Catholic Heaven and Hell and Purgatory. There are many. They weave in and around our own mundane world, unseen and unfelt … unless some of those inhabitants desire contact."

That concept made Papella's skin crawl. "Why should I believe you?"

"The Snow Queen uses such magic. It is vastly more potent that anything our Guild has faced before."

"Oh. That's why you failed."

The man's face clouded with suppressed rage and contempt. "Do not assume too much, sir. We would have succeeded, and handily, if the Queen had been what you claimed in the contract. That you gave us false information is on your head."

"Are you trying to back out of the contract? Is _that_ what this is about? I paid you a king's ransom for-"

A knife he'd not seen drawn suddenly appeared quivering in his desk a hair's breadth from his hand, shutting him up instantly.

"You contracted us under false pretenses. Your fee is forfeit."

The Cardinal opened his mouth to object, thought it over for half a second, and closed it again. "Very well. So I've wasted my money."

" _Your_ money? My sources tell me …"

"Semantics. It was money under my control, ergo, my money. And you're telling me it was wasted. If that's all you have to say …"

"It is not."

Silently Papella waited.

"If we had known of the Snow Queen's true nature, we would have taken the contract anyway."

"But not three minutes ago you said …"

"We would have taken it under different terms."

The wheels in his head suddenly spinning at high speed, Papella sat back. "Oh."

"Yes, 'Oh'."

"You wish to renegotiate."

The man nodded.

"Interesting."

"So then the question becomes, what is it really worth to you to have Elsa of Arendelle in your power?"

"Yes," agreed Papella, turning his attention once more to his meal. "That truly is a most interesting question."

. . .

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. . .

 _Thursday 14 October 1841_

Tomás Banderas, the man standing on the other side of the desk, had confidence written all over him. "Yes, General. I am completely serious. I have his name, the locations of his estates, an approximate estimate of his total worth … and the fact that he is betrothed to Elsa of Arendelle."

Don Joaquín Baldomero Fernández-Espartero y Alvarez de Toro, the elected Genereal-Regent of Spain, stared incredulously at his subaltern for several beats. "So you are telling me that the Snow Queen, who by all careful reckoning is now quite probably the most powerful being on Earth, is planning to marry one of my _hidalgos?_ I could scarcely conceive a more fortuitous stroke of luck!"

"Which is why I knew you had to be made aware of it as soon as possible. I returned with all due speed."

"When is the wedding?"

"They hadn't decided before I left, but rumors have it that they wish to hold it in the early spring. They've known each other less than two months, but I've had reliable word that they would marry tomorrow if decorum didn't dictate otherwise."

"… An affair of the _heart?_ Can it _be?_ "

"Yes, sir."

"God _does_ love me after all! Even after narrowly avoiding resignation last May, I was not convinced that my policies could carry the day. But now!"

"Indeed, sir. De la Maria will surely have the ear of the Queen. If you make your wishes known to him …"

Espartero's mustache received several vigorous rubs while he thought. "We need to welcome her into the fold."

Tomás grinned. "A warm welcome, indeed, beloved sister that she will be to us."

"You will go now and prepare a diplomatic corps of, say, five trusted men." He held up a finger. "And see if you can find a woman to go with them. Perhaps she can gain the Queen's confidence."

"Only one woman?"

"There aren't two at Court who get along. If we sent two, they would bicker. Not a good impression on the Queen."

"Ah. Of course."

He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on the lattice. "We must put our best foot forward."

"I will get right on it, sir."

"And, Tomás …"

"Sir?"

"How widespread is this knowledge?"

"I'd say … not very. They have published nothing official. No invitations, not even the banns. Their friends know, but, really, I'd be surprised if the news had escaped Arendelle yet."

"… Excellent." He waved the wave of one who knows his orders will be obeyed. "Go make it happen."

"Yes, sir."

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 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _So. All that happened. All that is important to understanding The Rest of The Story. Stay tuned!_**

 ** _All comments welcomed._**


	2. Introductions

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

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 ** _Author's Note:_**

 ** _As advertised, this is being told in roughly chronological order. That means that there are going to be some things happening that you, Gentle Reader, did not encounter in the "Prototype" version. Just play along, and I think you'll be happy with the result._**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Introductions**

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 _Arendelle Fjord – Tuesday 09 November 1841, 4:00pm_

"Aren't you cold?"

The woman at the ship's railing turned her head, giving the speaker a profile of an aquiline nose, smiling red lips and a dark eye. "Hardly. Unlike you, Eduardo, I brought appropriate clothing."

The man stepped closer, laid a gloved hand on the polished wood, and examined her attire. "So I see. By the Saints, Sofia, where did you find furs of this kind in Madrid?"

"I have connections."

He shivered a little. "Would have been nice if you'd connected _me_ to your source." Fingering his full-length coat, he said, "I fear this wool will not be up to the task."

"Probably not, given what I've heard of these northern winters. Doubtless, you can purchase what you need once we get settled in."

" _If_ we get settled in."

"Pessimist."

Giving his head a rueful shake, he countered, "Realist."

"I think you underestimate our chances. If there is one fact we may all count on, it is that Queen Elsa is reliably hospitable. This much, at least, may be considered common knowledge."

"To the point where she won't object to half a dozen of the Spanish Court showing up unannounced? We shall see."

Eduardo's twin Emilio came up to stand on Sofia's other side. "Quite the fetching view, is it not?"

"Yes," agreed Sofia. "You see, Eduardo, your brother isn't such a doom-crow."

"He's a student of architecture. Of _course_ anything new and different is going to catch his eye!"

They were within easy sight of the castle by then, and would be docked and debarked in less than twenty minutes. The day being fine and clear (notwithstanding the frigid breeze) they could see every tiny detail of the huge edifice's construction. Emilio remarked, "That roof of light blue slates makes a real statement. I can't recall ever seeing such a … _regular_ pattern. As if each tile was identical to the rest."

Eduardo agreed. "They certainly do seem to keep it in good repair. It reflects well on the Queen."

"Tomás did say one tidbit he picked up on when he was here in August was that she was a stickler for appearances."

"So. Standard royalty." Sofia leaned her elbows on the rail and studied the approaching city. "No surprises, then. I've dealt with her sort before. This should be straightforward and easy."

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. . .

 _Port de Calais, France – 5:00pm_

From her vantage point on the ship's deck, a regally-dressed woman pointed an imperious finger, shouting in carefully inflected French, "Be careful with that trunk! It must not be tilted! Can't you read the directions on the bill? Or can you even read?"

The two longshoremen, grumbling, readjusted their grips and continued lugging the huge, heavy article up the gangplank.

She crossed her arms with a scowl. "Honestly, one would think there might be at least _one brain_ among you."

They shot her a couple of sullen glares, but didn't say anything.

Several paces down the dock the ship's master swore under his breath. "What does she think this is, the royal fuckin' flagship?"

Louis Cardin, who was (according to the papers he carried) the Attaché to the French Ambassador to Belgium, looked up from his journal and gave the other man a hard stare. "Captain? Do you have a problem with her gold?"

"I got a problem with her fuckin' _attitude!_ She treats my men like fuckin' bugs!"

"She is related to Royalty. What would you expect?" In truth, he knew she had _been_ Royalty, for she was none other than Maria Christina, the deposed Queen Regent of Spain. That was not, however, the role she played at present.

Captain Jean Raibillard leaned over the railing and spat. "Just 'cause she's the get of some Duke or Prince or what, that don't mean she's better'n nobody else. Fuckin' bitch. Acts like we're somethin' she'd scrape off her shoe."

Cardin sighed. It was just this sort of Populist attitude that he and his cronies were trying to stamp out. "Captain … please understand that she is not simply 'the next passenger'. She is Anna Teresa Julia Magdelena von Treberg, first cousin to Empress Maria Anna, wife of Ferdinand V, and a Countess of Savoy in her own right. She is going to Arendelle to establish an Embassy for Austria. Our aim is that she will secure the aid of the Snow Queen in the upcoming conflict with Italy. Sir, you should know that she carries the hope of all nobility against those horrid Republicans now besieging the halls of power all over the Continent!"

"Like I give two shits what Ferdinand thinks … or whether Austria sinks or burns. Or Savoy, either." He spat again. "Mark my words: won't be long 'fore France don't have a King no more. Common folks got a taste o' what the Republic could be, an' Louis Phillipe ain't payin' attention. We get one good drought, an' it'll be all over."

Giving him another level stare, Cardin asked, "What do you mean?"

"I got ears, don't I? He tries every year to bring back the _ancien régime_. 'tween his politics an' his taxes …" The Captain shrugged. "I ain't political, m'self, but I see which way the wind's blowin'." He shot a glance at Cardin and snorted. "An' if Miss Holy-Poly-Snoot over there thinks she can get Queen Elsa to back her up, she's got a rude surprise waitin' on her in Arendelle."

"That remains to be seen." He returned his attention to his papers. "I'm sure you have many duties to attend to, Captain."

Recognizing the curt dismissal as an effort to save what face the Ambassador had left, Captain Raibillard walked off to speak to the Harbormaster.

Narrow eyes followed him. _That one will warrant watching._

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle – Wednesday 10 November 1841, 9:30am_

Elsa sat still for a few breaths, absorbing the news. At length she set the parchment on her desk and looked up at Jørgen. "And they've taken rooms in a hostel?"

"Yes, Majesty. The Stooping Hawk."

"This is highly irregular. We received no notice from the Spanish Court." She ran a finger over the wax seal at the end of the missive. "This _looks_ like Espartero's signet. I am not, however, an expert. It could be a forgery." Tapping her finger several times, she looked again at the introduction. "I have only superficial knowledge of the Spanish Court. The only name on here I am _at all_ familiar with is Tomás Banderas, and even then only because he was the _other_ Spaniard present at Anna's wedding, and she'd remarked on it."

"Perhaps Señor de la Maria could be of aid."

"I'm sure of it." She allowed herself a tiny smile.

"May I assume he is on the way?"

"You make an accurate assumption."

Jørgen chuckled ruefully. He didn't know all the ins and outs of Elsa's power, but he had been let in on the secret (no real details, of course) that she and her fiancé had some kind of arcane ability to communicate with each other remotely. He had wished, practically every day since this revelation, that he could do it with his own wife. It would have made a lot of things easier.

Just under a minute had passed when there came a rapid triple-knock. Jørgen, standing right by the door in anticipation, opened it immediately to admit Carlos. He trotted over to the desk, leaned over and gave Elsa a quick, gentle kiss, then turned his attention to the late announcement.

"Okay. Let's see. Besides Banderas we have … hmm. Sofia Ventura de Tejada y Fernandez. I remember her, but it's been a few years. She's Ignacio's daughter."

"Ignacio?"

"Sorry. He's the Duke of Lugo, and you can bet the apple didn't fall far from _that_ tree. A sharper Court politician you would have been hard pressed to find, and she can only have gotten better since then."

"What's she doing here?"

"Don't worry, we'll find out." The next name on the list, Diego de la Cruz, made him think for a moment. "Unless I miss my guess, he's the nephew of the Marquis of Altamira, which means he has access to more money than he can ever live to spend."

She arched a brow. "More than yours?"

"More than a few _times_ as much as mine."

"Hmm. And your fortune eclipses our royal treasury. So, he's probably not here after Arendelle's vast monetary resources."

"Yyyeah, no. I'd say not."

"Again, then, the mystery is why he's here at all."

"I'm fairly certain they want to try to influence you into an alliance with Spain."

Regarding him narrowly for a few breaths, Elsa finally asked, "And what would be your view on such a goal?"

He shrugged. "Right now, Arendelle has only the most tenuous of dealings with Spain. They buy a little ice … and recently some dried cod."

"Such an arrangement … might have some potential. If trade is truly what they're after."

His hand gave hers a quick squeeze. "We'll figure it out."

"I hope." She pointed back to the message.

He picked up where he'd been reading. "Ah. Now these two, I know. Eduardo and Emilio Santos are the nephews of the Marquis of Santillana."

"You _know_ them, or know _of_ them?"

"I know them. Well, Eduardo, mainly. He's a good man."

"You're just all kinds of comforting."

He grinned at her. "One might infer that you're worried. You don't honestly think these people present any kind of threat, do you?"

"Threat? No. Irritant? _Highly_ probable."

Carlos looked back at the parchment. "Okay … this Gerardo Garza … he's not ringing any bells."

"And that _does_ bother me. You think he could be another assassin?"

"As a member of this group? Unlikely enough to make me dismiss the idea out of hand. Eduardo is a shrewd fellow. Under no circumstances would he have anything to do with an assassin." Carlos frowned in thought. Elsa could tell his mind was racing, trying to come up with …

"He might be related to the Duke of Frías. If he's the Garza I think he is. It's not an uncommon name, though. Could be anyone."

"Well, okay, then. What other sorts of business could they have in Arendelle?"

He pointed at a passage in the introduction. "Maybe what they _say_ they want to do? Set up an Embassy. Examine possible opportunities for trade. Formalize relations. They don't _necessarily_ have to be harboring any evil motives."

"It all seems a bit rushed, though, don't you think?"

"Maybe it's the timetable they had. Banderas was here in late August. It took him a couple of weeks or more to travel back to Madrid. He had to make a report to someone, and then whoever _that_ was would need to make a determination of what to do about relations with Arendelle. They would have to consider, carefully, your magic's widely-confirmed lethality."

"But I have _less_ than zero designs on conquest!"

"Hey, _you_ know that, and _I_ know that, but what guarantee does … well, for example, King Louis Phillipe have? Remember Mikael's description of 'throwing down lightning on Paris like the hammer of God'?"

"How could I _forget?_ I didn't sleep for two nights!"

"Well, there you go."

"But we sold fifteen hundred _tons_ of fish to the French! And they got a bargain, too. How could they think we have evil motives?"

"You're assuming that they think at all. In my experience, the general run of rulers in Europe lack the brain-power to make the call logically … and that goes double for the House of Orleans."

"Lovely."

"Anyway, back to timetables. Banderas arrives in Madrid, reports to his superior, and then has to cool his heels while they think it over. Once Espartero makes up his mind-"

"You truly think it went to the top?"

"You have to ask? I know the man. He's the elected Regent General, and knows he could be _un_ -elected without much fuss. By the last information I had heard, his party's position is precarious, so he's going to look for every angle he can find to stay in power."

"Let me guess. I'm one of his 'angles'?"

"Most likely."

"I hate, hate, _**hate**_ politics."

"So do I. So … the delegation would need to be chosen and vetted and gathered. Actually, I'm kind of impressed they were able to get back up here this season. Someone higher up must have made it a priority." Again, he grinned. "Sounds to me as if Espartero wants to make a good impression on you."

"Him and every other man warming a European throne," she remarked in disgust. "And a few women."

"I know it's tough, Darling." He tenderly kissed her temple. "It's simply something we'll have to deal with. Probably several times."

After taking a few fortifying breaths, she said, "Very well. I'll set up an audience." She gave Jørgen a high-sign; he walked up to the desk from where he'd been standing in a respectful silence. "Captain, if you would be so kind as to send one of the guards after my secretary?"

"I'll do it myself. Pretty sure I know where he is."

"Ah. Well, then, please send one of them after my sister. We need to discuss this."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Audience Chamber – Thursday 11 November 1841, 2:00pm_

The two thrones in the Chamber came as a small surprise to the Spaniards, not the least because they were both made of ice. Elsa, in full ice-fabric regalia, sat on the larger of the two, while Princess Anna sat to her right.

As the visitors had the story, some months back a scenario a bit like this had played out, with unfortunate consequences. Five assassins had tried to shoot the Queen, and two of her Guard almost died. Apparently she was taking no chances with the Spanish delegation, even if one of them _was_ an old friend of Carlos's. The dozen members of the Guard in the room were armed with carbines, and the visitors had all been searched. Thoroughly. (And, though they didn't know it, Elsa had her armor-wards active, and had similarly warded her Guards and her sister.)

Tomás Banderas, the leader of the Spanish delegation, stood seven paces from Elsa's throne to read off the official greeting from the General; the rest stood two paces behind him. As the flowery language went on for a couple of minutes, Sofia had time to make a discreet survey of the room and an examination of Elsa. Of course they had heard tales of Elsa's beauty, but Sofia hadn't been fully prepared for the actual reveal. In addition to the classic and delicate lines of the Queen's face, her large, luminous eyes, and her excruciatingly correct bearing, Elsa's coloring made her rather exotic to those more used to the Mediterranean standard. Sofia fought down a tiny flare of jealousy.

Eduardo was wondering, and wondering hard, where Carlos was. He knew of the betrothal (they all did) and had expected to see the man near Elsa; yet, there was no trace of him. Then it occurred to him that Carlos could be watching them from a secret spot. With this possibility in mind, he turned his attention, as surreptitiously as he could, to winkling out where his old acquaintance might be hiding. He wanted to alert his brother to this possibility, but a private conversation at this point would reflect poorly on their manners. And they couldn't have that.

It wouldn't have done him any good. Emilio, who stood immediately to Eduardo's left, could not take his eyes off Elsa. Seriously. A bomb could have gone off behind him, and he wouldn't even have flinched. He hoped, on the one hand, she wouldn't catch him staring; on the other, he wished she _would_ spot him and be instantly and hopelessly smitten, forget all about Carlos, and …

Gerardo Garza, who was, as Carlos suspected, a cousin of the Duke of Frías, paid especially close attention to the Princess. There had been a great deal of speculation concerning her relationship with the Queen. Reliable reports described how Elsa had personally conducted a rescue operation when Anna had been kidnapped, using her magic to capture the thugs and free her sister. Details varied wildly. However, this was the same sister the Queen had reportedly frozen with her magic, and then thawed with her tears. Gerardo concluded she didn't look any the worse for wear. Still, some of the stories hinted their relationship might extend past what was entirely appropriate for sisters. He'd promised himself to unearth the truth of those rumors.

The last man in line, Diego de la Cruz, had been chosen to be a part of the group for his knowledge of trade. He would do what he could to examine Arendelle's trade status and see if he couldn't produce some good reasons to expand it to Spain. Tomás's reasoning was that Elsa would be less likely to dump a fathom of snow on a close trade partner.

Tomás finished his introduction and they all paid close attention to Elsa's next words.

She had been practicing her Spanish, but it still had some rusty spots. "So. You were to a trade a delegation, and you wanted to set up an Embassy Arendelle in official."

To his credit, Tomás didn't give any reaction to her slightly mangled syntax. "Your Majesty is correct."

"We wonder why."

Having spent some time going over the Queen's possible questions and responses beforehand, he had a ready answer. "Our Regent-Elect had heard rumors of your enlightened government. It was why he sent me to attend when the news arrived of the Princess's nuptials. He wanted to know the truth." A deferential bow later, he concluded, "I was able to report to him that the rumors, rather than being overblown, failed utterly to describe just _how_ enlightened your reign has been. Never had I seen such a loyal and happy group of subjects. As such, he-"

"Citizens."

"… Ah … begging Your Majesty's grace?"

"Arendelle does not have subjects. My citizens people are."

He processed her words for a couple of beats, and then smiled. "Of course! Yet another example. As Your Majesty may know, the General's policies entail a departure from the absolute monarchy of the past."

"I had heard of that."

"Well and good! One of the purposes of our delegation is to examine the workings of Your Majesty's reign, and see what of it may be applied to Spain."

"… Indeed."

"Yes."

"I see." She directed a slight frown his way. "So then my powers do not play into your purposes at all, do they?"

"Your Majesty is wise. No, my Queen, they most assuredly _**do**_ have a bearing on our goals."

"And what would that be?"

"Spain wishes an alliance with the kingdom slated to wield more power than any other state on Earth – than any other group of states, frankly."

Elsa stared at him for close to half a minute, not moving a muscle, not changing her countenance in the least. To Tomás it seemed as if she was having an internal conversation of some sort.

"Señor Banderas … Arendelle has a long history and placid of staying out of constantly wars plaguing Europa. We have no intentioning, none at all, of doing that change. If you are looking to an ally for aid you in battle-"

He shook his head firmly. "No, Your Majesty. Spain seeks trade and understanding, friendship and peace. Nothing more."

Again, she paused as if listening to something the rest of them couldn't hear. At length, she gave a short nod. "I see. Well, then. I understand some rooms you take at a hostel."

"Yes, Your Majesty. The Stooping Hawk."

"We will explore what you offer. We will give you to know three days to what is decide."

"Spain can ask no more, Your Majesty."

"Do you a guard to be required?"

"Ah … no, I do not believe so. I had understood Arendelle was a much safer place, now the, ah, future Prince had arrived."

"Oh. So then you know of your countryman?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. He is, after all, one of the General's _hidalgos_ , and a good friend to some of us. We were overjoyed to hear he had finally found love."

Her lips twitched in a quickly-repressed smile. "Were you, then."

"Indeed. My companion, Eduardo Santos, has known Señor de la Maria for several years, and was shocked to learn how you, Your Majesty, had managed to breach the rocky shell around his heart."

Elsa raised a brow at his metaphor. "Rocky shell?"

"Ah … perhaps I misspoke. But Señor de la Maria was well-known for his disdain for affairs of the heart. That you won his came as a pleasant surprise to us all."

"I see." She went through her internal-listening habit again for a few breaths, finally nodding to herself with another suppressed grin. "Very well. We will consider your proposal. You may go."

The Guard had led them down two hallways, about halfway back to the entrance, when they came across Carlos, leaning against the wall in an adjoining corridor, arms crossed. He gave the group a wry smile. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

Eduardo's face lit up. "Carlos!" He trotted over and embraced his old friend. "Amigo, you are looking well! Arendelle agrees with you; you haven't aged a day!"

"Heh. It's the weather."

"And the company?" His grin stretched Eduardo's ears back. "We all saw her. You're a lucky bastard!"

"More than you could know."

Emilio asked, "So, you actually do love each other?"

Catching the wistful tone of his question, Carlos put a hand on the man's shoulder. "We do. So deeply, I don't think it can be explained in words." Turning then to Tomás, he shook the Delegation leader's hand. "Banderas. Good to see you again."

"And you, de la Maria. I'm hoping we'll have many evenings to catch up and share our adventures."

"Oh, it's possible. My dear Queen, once she works through her paranoia, is the most charming of hostesses."

"I'm given to understand she comes by her paranoia honestly."

"Truthfully. Having world-renowned assassins gunning for you does nothing for one's naïve trust in the goodness of men." He stepped over to Sofia. "Countess Ventura." He kissed her offered hand. "You're looking ravishing, as usual."

"Compliments? Aren't you afraid your bride-to-be will get jealous?"

"Under no circumstances."

She blinked a bit at the solid, unfaltering, absolute certainty in his declaration. "Well. Yours sounds like a love worthy of a ballad."

"Or several." Looking then at the last man, he offered, "Señor Garza? You would be related to the Duke of Frías?"

"I am. His cousin. His mother is my grandmother's sister."

"Ah. That explains it, then." Clasping his hands at the small of his back, he addressed Tomás and continued, "I heard you took rooms at the Stooping Hawk."

"Word flies around fast."

"It's not a large city."

Sofia muttered, "You can say that again."

"Fear not, the place does have its charms. To demonstrate, I would like for the six of you to join me for dinner."

"Oh? You know all the good places?"

"Have you forgotten my appetite? Of _course_ I've scouted out the best restaurants. However, I would prefer it if you returned here. The palace cook knows how to treat cod with respect."

"Hopefully not dried," Sofia commented.

"Hah! No. I think you'll be pleased."

"Very well. What time?"

"Seven. That should give you all time to rest and freshen up. Knowing what I do of the voyage from Spain, I doubt you've all fully recovered yet."

Eduardo snorted. "Ocean travel is vastly over-rated. I'm tempted to _walk_ back home."

"Then I won't keep you up late. But I do expect we have a lot to talk about."

"Perhaps such a dinner can become a regular occurrence?"

"Perhaps." Carlos's attitude then became brisk. "I fear I have many tasks vying for my attention. I will see you all in the courtyard at seven." He kissed Sofia's hand, shook Eduardo's, and left.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The North Sea – Friday 12 November 1841, 7:30pm_

The cabin door clicked quietly shut behind him as Attaché Louis Cardin entered Maria Christina's presence. His eyes traced quickly around the room, spotting the mostly-empty wine bottle and the wide-based cradle for the glass that went with it, currently in a well-manicured hand. There was, however, no sign of Fleurette, the ex-Queen's companion/ chaperone. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Is your handmaid otherwise occupied?"

"Took to her bed early." She drew a quiet sip from her glass. "Dyspeptic, it seems. The ocean does not agree with her."

Cardin did not miss the slight gleam in the deposed Queen's eye. "And perhaps a slight measure of food poisoning?"

"I'm quite sure I have no idea what you mean."

"Indeed." He took a seat and spread his coattails. "Convenient, though."

Maria Christina got down to business. "What have you learned from the sailors?"

"Confirmation of most of what we'd suspected. An absolute conviction that Queen Elsa froze her sister by accident, then brought her back to life with her tears. Eyewitness accounts of what they term 'The Battle of the Five Ships'."

"So she controls the sea as well." That gleam in her eye grew bright. "Oh, the conquests we shall make!"

"It isn't like you to count your chickens thusly."

"We have a sound plan." She drained her glass, set it in its cradle. "Elsa, as you've said many times, dotes on the Princess. Once we have her sister safely away, she will meet our terms. If things do not go to our liking – though I fail to see how that might occur – her wrath will fall on Austria. We win either way."

"Assuming we can get her away from the Queen."

"Have faith in my abilities, Cardin. Powerful she may be, but such a cloistered little rustic could never be a match for my skills of manipulation."

"Eh. _Rustic_ quite describes Arendelle. From accounts I've heard, their 'city' houses fewer than four thousand souls."

"I've heard the same. They put on airs, calling that anything but a village." The ex-Queen poured the rest of the wine into her glass and took a long swallow. She stared off into the middle distance for a bit before asking, "Are we still on schedule to arrive on Monday?"

"As of my last conversation with the Captain."

"Good."

Neither felt inclined to continue the conversation. After half a minute Cardin rose and took his leave.

. . .

. . .

. . .

* * *

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _And there you have it. From here on out there should be a greatly-reduced level of confusion ... although I hope to maintain a fairly high level of anxiety in all concerned. ;-D_**

 ** _Reviews = Love!_**


	3. Unease

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Due to feedback from certain readers, I've decided to make the chapters shorter until I get caught up. This will accelerate the posting schedule, but I hope that doesn't bother anyone.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Unease**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Fjord – Monday 15 November 1841, 10:20am_

"What a God-forsaken little sty."

Louis Cardin glanced to his left. Maria Christina was sweeping her supercilious gaze from castle to town and around the fjord. He drummed his gloved fingers lightly on the polished brass of the ship's rail, and cleared his throat.

Again.

Once more. Then he turned to face her. "The kingdom is not large, though reasonably prosperous in its way. You would do well, if our plans are to succeed, not to let that attitude become common knowledge."

She scoffed, "Please. I know how to play the game."

"Then perhaps you should begin doing so."

Patting his cheek, she answered, "You worry too much."

That failed utterly to bring a smile to his face. "Yours is not the only fortune riding on this venture, Your Grace."

She waved off his objections. "There is a time and a place for everything. First, we make the introductions. Then we set up our base of operations." Her smile grew predatory. "Then it gets interesting."

He swung his arms around to clasp his hands at the small of his back. "As you say."

"Trust me."

His instantaneous thought in response was, _Not likely._ But he didn't voice it.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's Study – Tuesday 16 November 1841, 4:00pm_

Carlos finished reading the lengthy introductory message, then let it drop to Elsa's desk. _**[[ I stopped believing in coincidence a long, long time ago. ]]**_

 _[[ And I never put any credence in it in the first place. ]]_

The Spaniard began pacing, rubbing his chin. "Arendelle had no dealings with Austria prior to Anna's wedding, when they sent that … what did he call himself? A Margrave?"

"Yes. Klaus … um, Klaus …"

"Blenheim."

"That's it! Right. An even-tempered fellow, as I recall."

"He was pleasant enough. At least he seemed more intrigued by your magic than terrified of it."

"Humph. As were more than a few," she remarked with a small sigh of frustration, "after that first battle with Hans."

Carlos fought off a grin. "The side effects, I am given to understand, _were_ more than slightly spectacular."

She scowled, then schooled her features. "Well, you weren't there, so as far as you're concerned it's all hearsay and rumor."

He guffawed at that.

"You know," said Elsa, growing pensive, "it took some time and introspection, but I have eventually forgiven him, after a fashion."

"… Really. You're a better person than I am, then."

"I did say 'after a fashion'. I wouldn't invite him to dinner, should he suddenly turn up."

"I'd hope not."

"No, I forgave him for my own peace of mind, to eliminate the last claim he had over any part of me. … But …"

He waited for a slow count of four. "But?"

"Well … over the last three months, I've tried to summon up some pity for him. I know I should, being a Christian woman. But if there were _ever_ a case of the punishment fitting the crime …"

"Ah. Of course. I know what you mean. It was almost poetic, despite being one of the most horrific things I'd ever experienced."

Elsa shook her head, chasing the ghosts back to their corners, and lightly tapped the announcement a few times. "Sorry. Distractions. These Austrians worry me. For one thing, they haven't said where they took up lodgings. I find that, in itself, more than a little suspect."

"Then we should investigate. We will find out where they're staying, and do some snooping."

She colored slightly.

"What?"

"Um … nothing."

A slow grin grew on his face. _**[[ You're worried about what we might see. ]]**_

 _[[ It's a valid fear. ]]_

 _ **[[ You know we can simply stop if it becomes uncomfortable or inappropriate. ]]**_

 _[[ I know.]]_

He studied her growing blush and then moved around to pull her out of her chair and take her into his arms. She laid her head against his chest with a sigh.

 _ **[[ I'm sorry it has to take so long. But these things …]]**_

 _[[ I know. I'm sorry, too. It can't be easy for you either, this waiting.]]_

 _ **[[ Not in any respect. But we are not Habsburgs, and decorum demands we wait at least six months to give everyone time to respond to the invitations. ]]**_

 _[[ And to make their preparations to be here for the wedding. Yes. You're right. I'm aware of all the details. But frankly, it doesn't help much. ]]_

He kissed her hair. Turned her face up and gently kissed both her eyes. She clung to him tightly.

 _[[ Your love makes living worth the effort. ]]_

He nodded. _**[[ Each day with you is a new revelation, and I know it will only get better after we wed. ]]**_

They stood that way for several minutes, each basking in the glow of the other's aura before she released him. Patting her hair down, she straightened her back and said, "I'll have the Admiral consult with his, ah, network of informants."

"His spies, you mean."

"When abroad, they're spies. Here, they are merely concerned citizens."

That pulled a chuckle out of him. "Semantics. But it does make things more palatable, doesn't it?"

"Apart from being the plain truth? Sure. We'll go with that." She glided over to the door and consulted with one of the Guard, who quickly trotted off.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Stooping Hawk – Wednesday 17 November 1841, afternoon_

When Tomás Banderas entered the common area in the suite of rooms his party had taken, he found Sofia de Tejada sitting in a high-backed chair, chin on a fist, staring off into the middle distance. Divesting himself of his sodden outerwear (would this damned place _ever_ be warm and dry again?), he pulled off his gloves and held his hands out to the fire. "Sofia."

She didn't even twitch.

As his greeting didn't seem to reach her, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Sofia? Anybody home?"

She started slightly and focused on him. "What?"

"You're in quite the brown study."

"I've been spending time with Queen Elsa."

"… Yes? And that means what?"

"She's the oddest monarch I've ever met."

He chuckled. "Certainly the prettiest."

Frowning, she countered, "Yes. She is. And you'd be advised to speak of her carefully around Carlos."

"Oh, he's not the jealous type. I know they're in love and all that, and I wish them the best. He could hardly have made a better conquest. The _last_ thing on my mind is any sort of poaching."

"Good thing for you. And I wouldn't refer to it as a conquest." She stood and walked over to the fire, her furs swaying around her ankles. "Tomás … how well do you know Carlos?"

"Better now than ever before. The three dinners we've had together have been most enlightening, wouldn't you say?"

"… Yes. Enlightening." She turned her face his way. "You were here for Princess Anna's wedding."

"Well, yes. The news I learned then is the reason we're here now. Espartero wants to make damned sure that he's on the Snow Queen's good side. Preferably get her as an ally."

"Yes, yes, I know. No need to state the obvious."

"Then why this … hesitation about Carlos?"

"It's not hesitation. There are a few facts about the kingdom's Prince Consort Apparent that have not been noised outside of Arendelle, though."

"Oh, really? Such as?"

"Such as the fact that he saved her life."

Taking half a step back, Tomás narrowed his eyes and said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Before the wedding, the Queen was attacked."

"Yes, those horrid assassins. All of the guests got bundled into the hostels for protection, me included. But she managed to kill them with her magic, and capture many of the thugs they'd hired to help. She's got them doing hard labor around the kingdom now, as I understand it mostly in the stone quarries this time of year. How was Carlos involved in saving her life? I thought it was _she_ that saved _him_. He got shot at one point, after the wedding, remember? And she used her magic to heal him."

"All true. But I mean before that."

"Obviously, I'm missing something."

"The big public attack was the assassins' _second_ thrust. A few days before, they had tried a clandestine approach."

"Meaning what?"

"They sneaked into the castle, four of them, in the dead of night. They killed the guards outside her room, and were in the process of breaking in to abduct her when Carlos intervened."

"… Intervened? How did he intervene? Was he living in the castle at the time, or am I missing something else?"

"No, he wasn't. He was outside, standing on that long bridge, although no one saw him. Somehow – and believe me, I hate using that word – he realized the Queen was in danger. So, he jumped over the wall, climbed the castle to an upper window, tracked down the assassins, engaged them in swordplay, and killed three of the four. The Queen awoke and froze the last one."

Tomás stared at her for a bit. "Climbed the wall? The curtain-wall around the castle?"

"Jumped over it, according to four witnesses."

"That wall has to be five man-heights."

"Six, actually."

"Then he didn't-"

"Look, you can argue with the members of the Queen's Own Guard who saw him do it."

"Wait … no, the Queen's Own wouldn't be drinking on the job."

"No, they wouldn't."

"Then there's something else going on. Maybe he had a rope and a grappling hook?"

"Do your own investigation if you like. But there is more to that man than meets the eye, you may be certain." She held her hands out to the fire. "Put a couple more sticks of wood on, would you?"

He did. They watched in silence for most of a minute while the wood caught and blazed up. Tomás cleared his throat, coughed quietly once, and asked, "Putting aside the 'Carlos' issue for a moment … when you say the Queen is 'odd', what do you mean? I assume you are talking about something other than the obvious."

"Indeed. And thank you, we got sidetracked. Queen Elsa and the Princess and I attended a funeral today."

"A funeral? Who died? I hadn't heard of any of the peers-"

"He wasn't a peer."

"… Then why did she go to the funeral?"

"Because that's what she does."

"… Wait … she's got a fetish for funerals?"

Sofia gave him an exasperated huff. "No, idiot. She attends every funeral she can because she feels an obligation to do so."

Tomás gave her a raised eyebrow for a couple of breaths. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. When I asked the Princess about it, she said that her sister cares about the commoners – 'citizens' was the word she used – and that it was a show of respect."

"Respect."

"Yes."

"For a commoner."

Sofia's lips quirked. "Citizen."

"Whatever." His fingers worked at his chin for a moment. "Was this 'citizen' an important member of the community?"

"He was a stable-hand."

His mouth hanging open, Tomás eventually sputtered, "No way."

"You think the Princess was lying? Or perhaps the Queen's tears were lying? They certainly seemed genuine enough to me."

"But … but that doesn't make any sense!"

"Elsa has a … well … a different attitude toward the people of her kingdom – different from any monarch I've ever heard of, much less met."

"But why would she … did she know him?"

"He worked at the castle, so, yes. She knows _everyone_ who works for her; she's on a first-name basis with _every last_ guard, knows their families. Remembers their children on birthdays, if you can conceive that. She knows better than half the people who live in Arendelle City, and I would say a not-inconsequential number of those who don't."

"Okay. How?"

"According to Anna, it's because she cares that much. She works at it. Constantly."

"Well. Huh." He turned that over in his mind for a while. "I wonder if there's any way we can turn that to our advantage?"

"I don't know. Yet. I'm still coming to terms with it."

"She's a very unusual monarch."

"I believe I said that already."

"And he was a simple stable-hand? You're sure? What was his name?"

"Utterly sure. And his name was Eric Olafsson."

"Never heard of him. And there was nothing special about him? About his death? How did he die, anyway?"

"That's another odd thing. The Prince Consort-"

"That Bjorgman fellow?"

"Right. He seems to think that a sorcerer did it."

Tomás took an alarmed step back. "There's a sorcerer in _Arendelle?"_

"No. Olafsson was murdered last July."

"… How do they know it was a murder?"

"His skull was smashed in. Some kids playing near the fjord found him. Shallow grave. One of them stepped on it, and his foot went into the corpse."

"… Ugh."

"Yes. Poor child will probably have nightmares. Anyway, as Bjorgman told it, Eric disappeared the same day the sorcerer showed up to slip into the slot he left. It does make sense from that perspective."

"What became of the sorcerer?"

"They were … reluctant to discuss it. I don't know why. Yet. But they did say he was 'permanently gone'. An odd choice of words, and I'd like to know exactly what it means."

"So one of her employees … but, no, you said she'd do that for anyone."

"Attend the funeral?"

"Right."

"Yes. I believe she would."

"Strange."

"Arendelle is a strange place."

He stood in thought for a minute, then glanced at the clock on the mantel. "They'll be serving supper soon."

"You go on. I don't have much appetite."

"Suit yourself." The door closed behind him with a snap.


	4. Misrepresentation

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **This is all new stuff, events which will be presented as they occurred, rather than as a series of flashbacks, which was the original plan. (Yeah, that was a bad plan.)**_

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Misrepresentation**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's Study – Thursday 18 November 1841, noon_

The Queen stared at Captain Jørgen Fjelstad. "They _bought_ a house?"

"They did."

"Not leased? Actually purchased?"

"Yes."

"That was fast." Elsa looked over at Carlos, who seemed just as nonplussed as she. "They seem to be quite certain of a positive reception, don't they?"

"Either that, or they're hedging their bets. They may think that if they give the impression of being totally sincere, you might not be quite as ready to kick them out."

"If I felt so inclined. Thus far, apart from showing up suddenly and unannounced, they haven't done anything to raise my ire."

"Eh." Carlos turned to Jørgen. "Have you found anything else?"

"They can be heard bickering. Much of the time. But none of the men I assigned spy-duty speaks Austrian, so I don't know what they're arguing about."

"Hmh." Stroking his chin, Carlos resumed pacing.

Elsa said, "I suppose it can't hurt to give them an audience." She picked up the introduction again and scanned it. "They did ask nicely."

"What's this diplomat's name again?"

"Countess Louisa Maria Theresia Giada Villafranca. House of Savoy."

"No one I'm familiar with."

"I meant to look her up in the registry, but other duties intruded." She ran a finger down the document. "Impressive list of credentials. Dowager Countess Brustella of Savoy. First cousin of Empress Maria Anna."

"Ferdinand's wife?" He frowned. "Huh. Must be on her mother's side."

That deepened Elsa's frown. "So … would her grandmother then be Maria Beatrice Ricciarda d'Este? Who would her mother be?"

"Huh. Good question. I thought I knew all the branches of that family." He pondered it for a moment. "Maybe … maybe she's the daughter of the Archduchess Maria Leopoldine? But I thought she only had the one daughter …"

"Countess Caroline is the only one I know of."

"Most interesting. I wonder how someone with a pedigree like that ended up on a diplomatic detail."

"Perhaps we'll get an opportunity to ask her."

"Okay, fine. So … when do you want to do this?"

"My afternoon is free on Saturday."

"Okay, that works. I'll go fetch your secretary. He can write up your invitation."

"Don't be too long. We've not yet eaten lunch, breakfast was _quite_ a while ago, and all I had was two cups of tea and half a muffin."

That drew a grin on his face. "Well, we can't have you fainting from hunger. I'll be right back."

Jørgen said, "Why don't I get him? That way you two can go eat, and he can gather his supplies. Meet back here at, say, one o'clock?"

"Perfect!" They said it in unison.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Nr. 8 Engravers' Way, Arendelle City – 6:20pm_

Maria Cristina dropped heavily into her chair and draped a forearm across her brow. "Ugh."

Attaché Louis Cardin, having just then entered their domicile, grimaced and thought, _Terrific. I haven't even had time to hang my hat, and must deal with this again?_ He was, after three days of nearly-constant arguing, out of all charity with his semi-royal charge. Biting back a curse, he asked, "What is it this time?"

"There is not a _morsel_ of pâté to be _had_ in this curséd land!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering, "Dear God."

"Oh, sure, it's fine for _you._ You've a plebeian upbringing, so I can't expect you to comprehend that certain things are simply necessary to the refined life!"

Taking a stance in front of her, he placed both hands on his elaborately-carved walking stick and stated, "They have lamb. They have bacon. They have beef and mussels and oysters and cod and halibut and salmon and chicken and duck and goose and venison. For the love of Holy Mary, they have _lark_ , if that's what you want! You can do without foie gras for a few weeks until we get that doubly-and-triply-damned Princess!"

She looked down her nose at him (a good trick, considering that she was seated) and huffed, "One must cultivate the proper mind-set to be successful in matters of intrigue. To do that, one must have the proper surroundings and support. And, yes, I consider pâté to be a crucial component of that support."

After a few breaths he shook his head and turned away. "You are unbelievable."

"To ensure success, we-"

He whipped back around. "To ensure _success_ , Your _Grace_ , we need to stay focused on what is important, and that is how to get Princess Anna away from her sister long enough to spirit her out of the kingdom. That's all. You don't need the fortification of pâté to lure the Princess into your trap."

She glowered and crossed her arms, but didn't answer.

"And, as for that, I'm given to understand that she prefers chocolate."

"Chocolate? I wouldn't have thought they would be aware of such a delicacy here."

"Apparently, they aren't quite as _provincial_ as we had initially assumed."

She huffed in exasperation as she rearranged her skirts. "Whatever. We may revisit that topic later. What new thing have you learned today?"

His walking stick made a hollow sound on the wooden floor as he tapped it. Before answering, he went to the closet and put away his hat and greatcoat. "Were you aware that Elsa is betrothed?"

She cocked one eyebrow. "Betrothed? No, I've heard nothing of that sort. I saw no banns published."

"There aren't any. They are keeping their relationship, ah, understated."

"Understated? Pregnant, is she?"

"No. Word in the taverns is that they are celibate."

Maria Cristina couldn't conceal her mirth over that one. "Sure they are."

"I'm not arguing either way. That's what the commoners believe."

"Obviously she _is_ more canny than I'd thought, to be able to pull that one off. To whom has she plighted her troth, then?"

"A Spanish fellow by the name of Carlos. He is reported to be an insanely-talented military man, rank unknown. The story is that he saved the Queen's life shortly after his arrival last summer."

"… He was here for the Princess's wedding?"

"So I was told."

"Wait … a military man? You mean to say that Queen Elsa is marrying a _commoner?_ I don't quite believe-"

"Settle your mind. He has a title, though I wasn't able to get any details."

"But he's Spanish. Damn. That could prove to be a problem. Certainly there aren't that many Spanish subjects who know me by sight, but … hmm …"

"We will need to make some circumspect inquiries before you are conducted into the Queen's presence."

"At the least. Perhaps we could …" She trailed off as someone rapped at the front door.

Cardin went to answer it, finding a Royal Page on his porch. The boy asked, in flawless French, "Would I, perhaps, have the pleasure of addressing Mssr. Cardin?"

Successfully hiding his shock at hearing his native tongue from such a rustic lad, he nodded.

The boy handed him a rolled parchment. "Our Good Queen sends her regards."

He took it, noting the embellished crocus pressed into the wax. "Ah … thank you."

The boy bowed and trotted off.

"Who was that?" called Maria Cristina.

"Missive from Her Majesty." He broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. "Hmph. Welcome to our blessed land, blah, blah … it is Our great pleasure, blah, blah, blah … present yourselves, blah, blah … hmm … Ah! She wants to see us on Saturday."

"That doesn't leave us much time, does it?"

"I would say not. I'll have my men scour the taverns for any bit of useful knowledge they can dig up." Giving her a narrow eye, he added, "And I think it would be politic for you to be 'under the weather' Saturday afternoon."

"That depends heavily on what we can learn before then."

"True. But it's a circumstance for which we must prepare. If it turns out that this Carlos fellow has seen you before, we may … we, ah … um … hmm …"

"Yes? What?"

He studied her face. "Your complexion is rather light."

"It is. What of it?"

"I'm thinking we might ruddy you up a bit. And perhaps get you a wig."

"Ah. A disguise. Good thinking."

"Yes." He cocked his head, moved to one side. "Yes. I believe Fleurette can be of significant help here. She's always keen to doll you up. Now's her chance."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle – Saturday 20 November 1841, 2:20pm_

Maria Cristina thought this the oddest introduction she had ever taken part in.

The ranks of Guards came as no surprise. She'd been in that position herself, more than once. But the Queen and Princess were seated on ice thrones when the Austrian party arrived in the Receiving Chamber. This occupied Maria Cristina's attention for the first few minutes. She knew Elsa could create and use ice for various purposes, but Anna? As soon as Cardin finished his speech, he stepped back and Maria Cristina dropped an excruciatingly correct curtsey; then she rose to a respectful attention. "Your Majesty. Thank you for receiving us."

"It was the least I could do, considering the cordiality of your request," Elsa answered in accurate, if accented, Austrian German. Her bearing was every bit as upright as her visitor's. "I must say, you've piqued my interest with your plans. Do you intend to use the house you've purchased as the Austrian Embassy?"

She blinked twice. _So they know._ "That is our plan, yes."

"It strikes me as a bit small and … unadorned …especially for an Embassy from such a great Empire as Austria."

"By Your Majesty's leave, we will construct a more fitting building at a later date, once we have examined the layout of the city. We felt that time was of the essence. Winter is coming on quickly, and that house is warm and tight."

Elsa was quiet for a moment. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts, but the ersatz Countess decided she was carefully picking her words, since she was using a language that didn't sit on her tongue often. "That seems to be a sound plan."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Well, then." Elsa wove her gloved fingers together in her lap. "Perhaps you can enlighten me on Austria's purpose in setting up this Embassy at all."

This was thoroughly-plowed ground for Maria Cristina, and she spun her tale out flawlessly. Their conversation went on in this vein for much of an hour, Elsa usually asking questions or making comments on earlier assertions, and the deposed monarch embellishing their position and doing her best to set Elsa's mind at ease. Finally …

"And we would like to host a small fete," claimed Maria Cristina unctuously, "as a way of thanking you for your great hospitality."

"I see." Elsa tapped one finger on the back of her other hand. "Not at your house, though? A bit small for a party."

"Yes, we will need to secure a public venue. Perhaps a theater or opera house?"

Elsa hid her amusement. "I fear we have no such thing in the city. It might be possible to use the cathedral, but again, that could be construed as impious."

"Ah. Well, that is sad."

"You could use a portion of the castle."

Maria Cristina gasped. "You would allow that?"

It was all Elsa could do to contain a laugh. "I think we can manage something."

Only a few more minutes passed before Elsa declared the audience over, and the delegation took their leave.

The sound of the door closing behind them was still echoing when Carlos stepped out from a concealing curtain and walked over to his love. "Did that woman say one thing – one thing at all – that wasn't a lie?"

"Not that I could tell." Elsa finally gave in to her giggles. "It was a command performance, though, don't you think?"

"Indeed."

Anna flopped back into her throne and shook her head. "I don't have your magic lie-detector, and I could tell she was faking it. What's she up to?"

"No idea," said Carlos. He rubbed his hands together. "So … do we want to send them packing now, or wait and see what it is they really want?"

"Oh, definitely the latter. This should, at the least, afford us much entertainment."

"Heh. I can see that."

"I think I will install one of my birds in their house."

Anna laughed and said, "I was about to suggest that."

"One other thing I'd like to do as soon as possible is send a letter to Emperor Ferdinand," stated Elsa. "He needs to know what is being done in his name, without his knowledge."

"Right," agreed Carlos. "By special courier. I'd love to hear his take on this nonsense."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The 'Austrian' Embassy_

Cardin closed their door and turned to Maria Cristina. "It's a good thing that Carlos fellow wasn't present."

"True. But I thought that went rather well."

"I agree. She was hanging on your every word."

Fleurette came out then, to help her mistress get changed. As the two of them left for her rooms, Maria Cristina tossed over her shoulder, "It's as I said. Such an insulated upbringing has left her highly susceptible to my intrigues."

"So it seems," he mused. "We may just pull this off."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _Pride goeth before a fall. And great that fall will be._**

 ** _If you've not already reviewed the "fourth chapter" of this story (from its first incarnation) you may do so now. Otherwise, FFn won't let you. Their filter thinks you've already reviewed this, even though it's new._**


	5. Inquiries

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **This is mostly necessary background stuff. The action will pick up again next chapter. (That doesn't mean you can skip this one, though.)**_

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Inquiries**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle – Saturday 20 November 1841, 7:00pm_

A servant opened the door to the Green Dining Room, cleared his throat, and announced, "Tomás Banderas and Countess Sofia Ventura de Tejada of Spain."

Carlos was already standing. He strode over, smiling at the pair. "Welcome! You're both looking well."

"It's a much nicer day today than it was yesterday," admitted Tomás. "No rain. My friend, I'll have to tell you: the weather here is not for everyone."

Sofia held out her hand, upon which Carlos dropped a kiss. She said, "He's right. Today was beautiful. Crisp and cold, but a bracing sort of cold rather than the chilly, penetrating, wet, windy mess we've dealt with since our arrival."

"That's true enough. Elsa got tired of it, too. So she fixed it."

They both stared at him, round-eyed. Tomás said, "… What?"

"She wanted to do her skating rink, but the rain-"

"Skating rink?"

"Oh, yes. She typically turns the castle courtyard into a skating rink each Saturday, but last week it was too-"

"Seriously? A skating rink."

"Absolutely. Oh, it's terribly popular with the townsfolk. But the rain was a nuisance, so she sent it away." He paused to give them time to absorb this information. "You must not have come in through the front gate today."

Sofia, an incredulous smile growing, said, "You're telling us that Queen Elsa is responsible for this weather? Seriously?"

"You do know she covered the entire kingdom in snow summer before last, don't you?"

"Well … yes. That's the common word, and everyone seems to agree. But … that was a loss-of-control sort of thing, wasn't it?"

"Sure. But that doesn't happen anymore."

"Can she do that any time she _feels_ like it? That's amazing!"

"I'm sure it's within her ability. But just because she _can_ do something doesn't mean she _should_. She's concerned that if she switches things around too much, it could have a negative effect on Arendelle's climate … permanently. So, she usually leaves things alone, and lets nature take its course."

Sofia motioned to a servant and allowed him to take her fur coat. Then she stepped over to the fire. "It's quite lovely in here, though, Carlos. You're such a good host, always making sure we're comfortable. Please know how much I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, I'm sure." He glanced at the door. "Are the others planning to come tonight? I thought surely the twins would be …"

"They may show. Most of us were taking advantage of the drastic improvement in the weather to enjoy the outdoors. Both de la Cruz and Garza have been itching to get in some archery practice, and as soon as they saw the clear sky, they went looking for your Guard Captain. Wanted to use their range. Eduardo and Emilio wanted to make the rounds of the hawkers in the market. So they might come or …"

The door opened and the herald-servant announced the two fraternal members of the delegation. Eduardo waved and called, "Tomás, they make cheese here! You must try the local green. So sharp, it will cut your lip!"

Banderas grinned and shook his head. "They also have a nice, soft version of goat cheese that spreads beautifully. I think I'll stick to that."

Sofia asked, "Where are Gerardo and Diego?"

"Target practice, last I heard."

"Now? But … it's been full dark for two hours!"

With a delighted laugh, Carlos chimed in, "I'll bet they're using the lighted range."

That brought him four blank stares.

"It was the Captain's idea. He stretches a large, white cloth out behind the target, then puts a bright lantern behind that. It illuminates the cloth, which throws the target into glowing relief. They could shoot at it all night, if they're any good."

Emilio whistled. "I'll be damned. What a novel idea! Does the Guard also take advantage of that?"

"They sure do."

"Those two," observed Sofia, "are going to have sore arms tomorrow."

"Maybe so," agreed Emilio, "but they'll be sore and happy." His stomach chose that moment to sing its song of discontent.

Grinning, Carlos held an arm out toward the table, and they all sat to dinner.

Conversation was light and convivial right up until dessert was served. Carlos had taken his first bite of a light lingonberry pastry when Sofia offered, "You know, I was with the Queen on Wednesday when she and Anna attended that poor boy's funeral."

This being a rather abrupt change of topic, Carlos chewed and swallowed, then set his pastry down and took a sip of wine before answering. "Yes, she mentioned that."

"Queen Elsa appeared to be quite stricken by his death."

"And so she was."

The Countess absorbed that and then nodded. "Did you know him?"

"No, I didn't. We never met. He worked in the stables, and I don't have a horse here."

She shot him a knowing look. "Yet."

"We'll see."

Sofia toyed with her wine glass. "Elsa sat a bit apart. I was with the Princess and her Consort."

"He'd likely prefer it if you called him Kristoff."

"So he said."

"And I _know_ Anna would rather you use her name."

"Some of her habits, that one chief among them, are a little difficult to adjust to. She's a charming girl, but for a Princess, she has a disturbingly familiar approach."

"A product of her upbringing. Still, she seems quite taken with you."

"Does she, now?"

"She does. You and Anna spent a good bit of time in conversation, as I understand it, both during and after the funeral."

"That we did. It was rather … enlightening."

Carlos wasn't completely sure he liked that term. "In what way?"

"Tell me, Señor de la Maria … how was it that you came to be positioned to save the Queen's life?"

The other three men were listening intently; Sofia had said she might bring this up, and they wanted to see what sort of reaction it brought. Carlos looked at each of them in turn, a wry smile making a brief appearance. "What did she tell you?"

"That you somehow deduced that the assassins had invaded the castle, chased them inside, and killed most of them before they could do the Queen harm."

"Quite liberal with her information, that girl." Carlos leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Mind if I ask where you're going with this line of questioning?"

Sofia watched him keenly for a few moments, then laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. "You, sir, have become quite the enigma."

"That doesn't do much to answer my question."

"No, I suppose not. But you and Elsa are very much in love. This is so, yes?"

"Yes. What's your point?"

"The story is that you came to Arendelle so you could attend the Princess's wedding."

"Very well. Again, what's your point?"

"I don't think that's the case at all."

"Really."

"I think you had a previous interest in Elsa."

"… Why in Heaven's name would you think that? I'd never been to Arendelle before."

"Because Elsa had a strictly straight-laced upbringing; she forbade Anna to marry that loathsome Prince, since they'd just met; I can't see her applying a rule to herself different from what she would use on Anna; and yet you two decided you were in love six days after you met."

The other three men hung on her every word.

Carlos took a quick, deep breath. "In love, yes. But it may have escaped your notice that we are not, in fact, married."

"But you will be."

"Yes. Next spring."

"Carlos … you had quite a reputation – a reputation you never bothered to dispute – for holding love and all its trappings in disdain. You could be rather vocal on the subject, if it came up."

"That's a keen memory you have there. And selective."

"I don't think so. It was common knowledge, at least among your acquaintances, that you thought romantic love was, at best, nonsense, and more commonly a form of lunacy."

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"You fell in love with Elsa practically at first sight. As she did with you. Doing that was wildly out of character for both of you, and I consider that worthy of note. I think there must be more to the story."

A slight hesitation preceded his semi-careless shrug. "People change. And, as you have noted, she is a uniquely compelling individual."

"Right." She sat straight, placed her hands in her lap. "Citizens as opposed to subjects. Taxes so low they would be considered scandalously meager anywhere else. A view toward ruling that might almost be called Populist. A fierce love for her kingdom and its inhabitants that is unknown in the rest of Europa. And she's a truly stunning beauty."

"And yet you act surprised that I fell in love."

"I think there's a connection between your saving her life, and the speed of your relationship."

He frowned, rather than answering her.

"I haven't figured it out yet, but it's a topic worth exploring."

Carlos took a long, slow breath. Let it out. Then he picked up his pastry, gave her a level look, said, "Good luck with that," and took a bite.

Sofia could tell when a subject needed dropping, gave him a brilliant smile, and resumed her lunch.

Emilio, Eduardo, and Tomás all visibly relaxed. They spent the rest of the meal discussing opportunities for recreation in and around Arendelle.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Anna's Greenhouse – Monday 22 November 1841, 11:40am_

"I do so appreciate this opportunity to admire your gorgeous blooms!" Maria Cristina gushed.

Anna took another half step back. It was becoming a habit around this woman. "Thanks. But it's mostly Hilde's doing." She held out a hand to the petite brunette who'd had the frequently thankless job of being Anna's sometime chaperone. Hilde looked up at them from where she was pruning a rose bush and gave a soft smile.

The 'Countess Villafranca' sniffed rudely and turned back to Anna. "Well, of course, you must have menials to do the unpleasant parts. Still, it's _your_ garden."

Anna cocked an eyebrow. "Technically." She hoped like heck that Elsa and Carlos would figure out what this oily harridan was up to and then give her the heave-ho. The Princess was tired of pretending to be clueless and naïve around her. "I did pick out some of the flowers."

Hilde piped up, "And the herbs, Anna. You did all the herbs."

Maria Cristina jerked back around and glared at the girl, who gave a tiny _Eep!_ and sort of crumpled in on herself. "Brazen familiarity! How dare you address your kingdom's Princess in such a manner! You should be whipped for that!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. Countess, Hilde is a friend of mine." She smiled at the girl. "A dear friend, who has helped me more often, I think, than I realize."

"… She's a commoner."

Anna turned her frank (and somewhat chilly) gaze on the older woman. "Yes? So? What does that have to do with anything?"

The impostor's mind whirled as she recalled what she'd been told of Elsa's mode of rule, and Anna's place in it. She cleared her throat and smoothed out her expression. "Of course. Naturally, it's none of my business how you run your kingdom." She stepped over to a potted dwarf hibiscus and breathed in the scent.

Anna and Hilde gave each other the same exasperated look. The Princess mouthed, "Sorry!" and Hilde shrugged, hiding a tiny grin. Turning back to the 'Countess', Anna said, "We should head back inside. They'll be serving lunch soon, and I don't want to be late. Chef Eland's making his onion soup, and it's _so_ much better hot."

"Of course," she said again. "It wouldn't do to miss that." Maria Cristina, in fact, despised onions, but she certainly wasn't going to tell the Princess.

They walked in silence until reaching the main hallway. "Your Highness, I've been thinking."

Sparing her a sideways glance, Anna commented, "Have you now."

"I'd promised your lovely sister when we were introduced that I would be holding a fete in your honor, and I believe next Saturday would be a good time to have it."

 _In_ _ **my**_ _honor? I don't recall it being stated quite that way._ "Saturday in five days Saturday?"

"No, a week past."

Anna frowned in thought. "That would be on … December fourth?"

"Indeed. Queen Elsa was kind enough to offer us the use of the castle for the party. Our delegation is quite well settled in at our temporary Embassy, and we have all our instruments unpacked and tuned."

"… Instruments?"

"I brought a string quartet."

 _Of course she did._ Anna fought down a sigh. "That would be most pleasant. Thank you. What do you need to do to prepare for the party?"

"Oh, don't worry about a thing. My people will take care of anything to do with it."

 _I am so sure they will._ Anna walked in silence for a few steps before offering, "I'm sure Elsa will be pleased, too. Parties were in short supply for most of her life."

"Then we must make her the belle of the ball! Oh, it will be so much fun! I know the most cunning games we can play …"

Anna allowed her to chatter on, injecting the odd monosyllable in appropriate spots, and wishing, for the _nth_ time, to enjoy the sight of her sails disappearing around the end of the fjord.

. . .

. . .

. . .


	6. Discovered

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Just wanted to reiterate that the chapters are short because I'm playing catch-up and want to get back to the current action as soon as possible. Also, I can post a lot more frequently this way.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Discovered**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's Study – Saturday 27 November 1841, 11:10am_

The Queen sat bolt upright in her chair and sent a frantic message to Carlos. _[[ Come quick! No, wait … you can listen from there. ]]_

 _ **[[ Listen to what? ]]**_

 _[[ Shh! Listen! ]]_ She brought his mind into hers, and tuned him to the frequency she used for the spy-bird she had placed in the Austrian Embassy.

It had been there for four days, and until this moment had done them no good whatsoever. She'd quickly determined that she would need to _hear_ through her creation in addition to seeing through its eyes, since it had to stay out of sight most of the time. It hadn't taken much experimentation to figure out how that might be accomplished. Sadly, all Elsa had caught were a few boring conversations about how cold it was (which was true), the Countess's complaints about the lack of decent food (to which she took exception), and how there were people and places they missed while being stuck in the frozen, backward north. All predictable, mundane, and distressingly normal.

Carlos concentrated on the two speakers, who were conversing in French. _ **[[ You'd think if they were supposed to be Austrian, they would be speaking Austrian. ]]**_

 _[[ Just listen. ]]_

"Haven't you heard anything _at all_ from Thiers?"

 _ **[[ That's the fake Countess. ]]**_

 _[[ I know. ]]_

 _ **[[ Who's Thiers? ]]**_

 _[[ Could be the French Prime Minister? His name is Thiers. ]]_

 _ **[[ Can you fly the bird around so it can see into that room? ]]**_

 _[[ I could, but I don't think I should. Can't risk having them spot it. ]]_

"Don't you think that if I had, I would have  
told you? _No,_ I haven't heard anything!  
It's only been ten days since I sent the letter.  
He may have only just received it Thursday or Friday."

"The ball takes place in a week!  
I need to know that he approves of our plan!"

 _ **[[ Plan? I'll show that rancid hag a plan! ]]**_

 _[[ Not just yet, dear. ]]_

There was a short pause, and an audible intake of breath.  
"My dear Maria Cristina … he told us before we left  
that we were to use all available tactics.  
Do you imagine he would have changed his mind?"

 _ **[[ Maria Cristina?! By the Saints! That's where I've seen her before! She's the deposed Regent. ]]**_

 _[[ That does explain quite a bit. But why are they pretending to be … wait … ]]_

 _ **[[ They're pretending to be from Austria so that you won't take revenge on France. I'd bet a stack of gold as tall as you are that's their plan. ]]**_

 _[[ Very well. Revenge for what? ]]_

 _ **[[ Still working on that one. ]]**_

"Maybe," countered the imposter, "  
and maybe not. I'd like something in writing."

"… Surely you aren't getting cold feet!"

"Absolutely not! We will succeed, regardless.  
But I want to know I don't have to  
watch for a knife in my back."

"Seriously? You're worried about a double-cross?"

"You came to me. Remember?"

There were sounds of heavy boots stomping off.

"Cardin! Don't turn your back on me!"

The stomping got fainter.

"Come back here!"

Lighter steps followed and faded out.

 _[[ So. Now we know France is involved. Thiers is the one who wields the true power of the state. Louis Philippe may be the king, but he doesn't involve himself in the running of France. Or much of anything else that doesn't involve his women or his parties. ]]_

 _ **[[ Naismith may have been more of a prophet than he knew. ]]**_

 _[[ Huh? ]]_

 _ **[[ With his talk about us raining destruction on Paris from above. If the French think they can threaten you like- ]]**_

 _[[ No. ]]_

 _ **[[ But, Elsa! ]]**_

 _[[ No. I'll not destroy a sovereign kingdom that hasn't attacked Arendelle. I've said before that I will not be used as some indomitable weapon of conquest, and I meant it. ]]_

 _ **[[ Preserving your life is hardly conquest! ]]**_

 _[[ If they come here and make trouble, I'll deal with them, just as I dealt with Hans's pirate rabble. But I'm not going to bring down any sort of Doom on another nation. ]]_

 _ **[[ … Fine. You stay here. I'll go handle it. ]]**_

 _[[ Carlos! ]]_

 _ **[[ What? They don't know me, or what I can do. I'll be subtle about it, work only at night. Certain of the people in charge will be gone when the servants come to wake them for breakfast. That's all. No one will be the wiser. ]]**_

 _[[ Carlos, no! You can't! It's wrong! ]]_

 _ **[[ Trying to kill you … is wrong. What I am proposing is justice. ]]**_

He could feel it when Elsa rubbed at her eyes. _[[ I really don't want to discuss this right now. ]]_

Deciding that temperance would work better than opposition, Carlos Sent, _ **[[ Okay. We'll wait and see what they're up to. But, Elsa, please know that I will brook no threat to your person or mind, and will take whatever actions are necessary to prevent it. ]]**_

 _[[ … I understand. ]]_ Since she felt the same way about him, she could hardly argue the point.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's Study – Friday 03 December 1841, 10:00am_

The light, familiar knock on her door drew Elsa's attention, and she smiled as she glanced up. "Anna. Come in, come in. You know you don't have to knock when the door is open."

"You looked like you were concentrating on that letter pretty hard. I didn't want to startle you and make you mess it up."

"Kind of you." She noticed an envelope in her sister's hand. "What's that you've got?"

Anna flicked the message against her palm. "You recall when the Austrians first got here how you couldn't find the Countess in the Registry?"

"Ah! Yes. You were going to write away for a new copy, since ours was almost as old as you are. Did it come?"

"It's on the way. But I also asked the archivist in Amsterdam to look her up, if he could."

"And did he?"

For an answer, Anna simply handed the envelope to Elsa.

Quickly she opened the letter and studied it, shortly giving a small chuckle. "Dead. Why does that not surprise me?"

"Exactly. The Dowager Countess Brustella of Savoy died in childbirth twenty-eight years ago."

"So … why would Maria Cristina have chosen her? Surely she knew someone would check her story."

"Maybe she doesn't pay much attention to detail," said Anna with a careless shrug. "We still don't know why she's going through this elaborate charade, but this shreds her claims rather thoroughly. If you want, you can arrest her now."

"Quite. Impersonating a peer is a crime in both Austria and Savoy." Elsa folded the letter back together and rested the end of it against her chin, thinking the situation over for a moment. "We know Cardin is a partner in her plot. I wonder if the rest of the Austrian delegation is unaware of this, or if they are all in together on … whatever it is she's up to."

"My money's on the whole bunch of them working together." She pursed her lips and temporized, "Except for Fleurette. That sweet little thing wouldn't be involved in anything as shady as what has to be coming together at that house."

"Hmm." Elsa's fingers drummed lightly on her desk. "The Countess's party is tomorrow."

"Yes, it is."

"They'll all be there in the same place. Convenient, don't you think?"

Anna, grinning, pointed between them a few times. "We think alike."

"Yes, we do. Let's pay Jørgen a visit. There's no one in the dungeon at present. Plenty of room."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _On board the **Sable** , leaving Arendelle Harbor – 3:30pm_

Maria Cristina took a quick look out the window of her cabin, shivering at the sleet _tacketing_ against the glass, then turned her sour countenance toward Mssr. Cardin. "This is outrageous. Sneaking on board ship. Skulking around like common thieves."

"All quite necessary, I assure you."

"All quite inconvenient, you mean."

"That, it may be. But we must be well away from Arendelle when the trap is sprung."

She crossed her arms and showed him her back. "It would be better to have them _guessing_ who took the Princess. When we can't be found, there will be no doubt."

"It has always been the plan to blame it on Austria. This will simply cement that conclusion for them. And if any tiny thing goes wrong, they would have us in their power. The Queen is already suspicious of us."

"You're imagining things."

Once more fighting down his irritation, Cardin ground his teeth for a moment and countered, "Even if I am, this tactic still won't hurt anything. We will sail down to Farsund and meet up with our agents. If they have her, we are safe. If not, we won't be cooling our heels in Arendelle's dungeon."

"I think you overestimate their intelligence."

He stuffed his immediate reaction back into its box, straightened his shoulders, and gritted out, "I guess time will tell." Then he took his leave. He didn't speak to her again until they docked forty leagues to the south.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle – Saturday 04 December 1841, 3:30pm_

Elsa frowned, pondering the news she'd just received. "Indisposed."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"But the Countess wants the party to go on without her? That … that is simply …"

Anna, who stood beside her sister, supplied, "Weird. That's what it is. Why would she blow off her own party? She's been so terribly excited about it."

The messenger bowed once more, the feather in his cap nearly brushing the floor. "A thousand pardons, Your Highness, but I was not told. I only know the Countess had taken ill, but did not want her absence to lessen your enjoyment."

Anna muttered quietly, "Her absence would likely _increase_ mine."

Elsa waffled for only a moment before saying, "Thank you. Please extend to her our wishes for her improved health."

He bowed low again and quickly left.

"She knows we're on to her."

Elsa glanced over at her sister. "That would be the most logical conclusion."

"Do you want to go over there and arrest the lot of them?"

"Don't you want to find out what their big, secret plot is? I doubt they'd admit to anything, and all I have on her at this juncture is the fact she's impersonating a Countess. At present, that lets the rest of them off the hook."

Anna's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "Okay. Your point."

"I think we should go ahead with the party as she suggests. I'll make sure we are all thoroughly warded, and we'll be on our guard against … eh, whatever she has planned." She quickly contacted Carlos and gave him a short synopsis of the situation.

 _ **[[ This has 'trap' written all over it. ]]**_

 _[[ You needn't tell_ me _twice. We will be on high alert during the entire event. ]]_

 _ **[[ And afterward. They may be waiting until we think the danger is past. ]]**_

 _[[ Then we will make our goodbyes and withdraw to our rooms. They can't do anything to me in my study. Or my bedroom. ]]_

 _ **[[ We'll use your study. I won't be separated from you for anything until we know exactly what they're trying to accomplish. ]]**_

Elsa stifled a giggle. _[[ My hero. ]]_

 _ **[[ I'm serious, Elsa. Yes, you're more powerful than I am in normal circumstances, and I can't really cut loose with my power while we're indoors. But I'm a great deal faster, physically stronger, and more durable than you are, and I aim to make sure anyone trying to get to you will regret it. Deeply. ]]**_

She nibbled her lip a bit. _[[ I understand. And you're right. We should present a united front, especially since we don't have all the information. ]]_

Anna had waited patiently at the edge of the conversation, but felt compelled to chime in. "What about bombs?"

Elsa took half a step back, blinking a few times. "I'd not considered … but … how would they even do that?"

 _ **[[ We should search everything they bring in to set up the party. That's a good catch, Anna. ]]**_

"Yeah, they're going to do a string-quartet thing. You can hide a lot of gunpowder in a bass violin."

Elsa took her sister by the forearms. "Thank you. So much. But now I have to see about warding the palace against explosions."

"Can you do that? Way cool if you can, but … how would you go about it?"

"I don't know yet. But I'll see what may be seen between now and then. I've got three hours."

Anna frowned. "But they'll be here to start setting up in half an hour, tops. We'll need all hands on deck to search their stuff."

 _ **[[ I'll be right there. ]]**_

"We'll get Jørgen to draft some of the Guard," said Elsa. "He'll know who would be good for that."

"Sounds like a plan."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _All comments welcome!_**


	7. It Begins

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **My apologies. I've been out of town for a few days, visiting the parental units. Mother's Day and their wedding anniversary are two days apart, and we had a gathering to celebrate.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Six: It Begins**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Castle Arendelle Ball Room – Saturday 04 December 1841, 6:20pm_

Captain Jørgen Fjelstad surveyed the arrangement of furnishings, the food-laden tables, the small dais for the musicians, and the high shine on the dance floor, and nodded to himself. "Whatever they're up to, it doesn't involve anything in _this_ room."

"Sure of that, are you?" asked Kristoff, who stood to his right.

"My best men went over every scrap of cloth and splinter of wood that came through those doors. So, yes, I'm sure." He gave the big blond the side-eye. "You're standing a lot stiffer than usual."

For an answer, Kristoff shrugged his shoulders and was suddenly holding a heavy dual-edged sword that narrowed to an arch point.

Jørgen's only reaction was a slightly raised eyebrow and a barely audible grunt.

"Carlos showed me how to do that. It's a little more difficult with a weapon this big, but the hidden-sheath principle's the same."

"Not letting Anna out of your sight, are you?"

"No." The weapon disappeared back into its holster. "It'll go hard with anyone who tries to hurt her."

Jørgen snorted a small laugh. "They'd have to try pretty damn hard."

There was a small hesitation before Kristoff said, "I know she's … durable. That's beside the point."

"She might take issue with that."

"No. I don't think so. We've sort of come to an understanding. I let her poke holes in herself for practice, and she lets me watch out for her in public."

"Does make your job a bit easier, though, right?"

Kristoff stared off at the far end of the room. "In some respects. She can't get sick, we know that much. And as far as we _know_ , poison can't kill her. Probably. But the kidnappers used chloroform on her at our wedding, and it did knock her out for a few minutes. So … maybe. Maybe not. I'm not keen to experiment."

"Definitely something to watch out for." Jørgen glanced around. "Of course, _they_ don't know that."

"No. They don't. And that makes me think they'll stick with more, um, direct methods."

"For which we have countermeasures."

"Yes."

"Like Elsa."

That made Kristoff crack a grin. "She _is_ our Ultimate Weapon."

"Though she doesn't much like the idea."

Behind them, Elsa cleared her throat, causing them both to jump. "No, I _don't_ like the idea, and I'll thank you to keep such thoughts to yourself."

Kristoff recovered smoothly. "It would only be in extreme circumstances, I know, and only for protecting your loved ones."

"Correct."

Jørgen countered, "As your stance against using magic in battle becomes more widely known, it may only embolden our enemies."

"Which is why we are working as hard as we can to make sure we don't _have_ enemies at all."

The men glanced at each other. Jørgen muttered, "There will always be Weselton."

Elsa's lips thinned. "To be brutally frank, the Duke is almost sixty-eight and takes laudanum thrice daily to combat his gout. He won't live many more years. I'm patient; I can wait. We will maintain an excruciatingly correct position _vis-à-vis_ trade, treaties, and alliances, and trust that after his death, less opportunistic heads will prevail."

A breath passed. Jørgen shrugged. "That's possible. It certainly does nothing to provoke anyone, and it's an easy policy to keep."

Kristoff insisted, "That still doesn't get us any closer to figuring out what these 'Austrians' are up to, though."

"No it doesn't. Keep that sword handy. And keep both eyes on Anna." She bustled off.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _9:45pm_

Carlos placed a hand lightly on Elsa's waist. From their vantage point at the head of the room, they could see all the dancers, the guards at every entrance, and the comings and goings of the servants. For having been put together in a week and a half, Elsa had to admit a grudging respect for how well everything was moving. Many members of Arendelle's small peerage were in attendance, and seemed to be having quite a pleasant time. The Austrians' string quartet was shockingly good, and knew any number of local tunes in addition to the classics. Elsa suspected they had been chosen originally for that talent, as she couldn't believe they had learned so many Scandinavian songs in three weeks.

"Anna's having fun," Carlos observed.

"I hope she isn't getting distracted."

"Even if she is, Kristoff isn't. He's downright grim."

"Good. The Austrian entourage has told me so many lies tonight, I'm having trouble keeping up with the narrative."

"Still think they're Austrian?"

"Meh. Some of them might have hailed from there originally. But if this bunch is officially connected with Ferdinand in _any way_ , I'll eat my shoes."

"It would have been nice to get a reply from Louis Philippe before this event. Then at least we'd know whether France was officially behind it or not."

She gave an un-lady-like snort. "Cardin is a weasel."

"No argument there."

"Why isn't he here?"

"Oh! That's right, I meant to tell you. According to that majordomo they have orchestrating things, he's taking care of the Countess."

She arched a brow at him. "Oh, I am _so sure_ he'd stoop to that. As if they didn't have servants for such things. Besides, I'm still not convinced she's actually sick."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised."

Across the floor, oblivious to this side-play, Anna was enjoying herself immensely. Several of the dances had been quite lively, and she had opted to wear flats to the ball to take advantage of the possibility.

Kristoff whirled her away from the crowd and asked, "Are you thirsty?"

"Whoosh. Now that you mention it, yeah. Parched." She pointed to the tables where the drinks were being served. "I'm all about some apple cider right about now."

He steered them carefully around the mob and over to the refreshments, and shortly each had a tall flute of the sweet juice. Kristoff, in light of the necessity of keeping Anna under careful guard, had opted out of anything alcoholic, and (even in the presence of some truly excellent akvavit) was sticking to that religiously.

One of the ball organizers came up to them and bowed low. "Your Highness! A merry evening to you."

"And to you, Alexander."

"We were wondering if you would care to try our telescopes?"

"… Beg pardon?"

"We have a brace of telescopes set up on the western balcony. The night is beautifully clear, and there are many stellar wonders to please the eye."

"Hmm." She cocked an eye at her husband. "Star-gazing. Sounds chilly, though. It's below freezing outside."

"We anticipated that, and imposed on your worthy Queen to moderate the temperatures on the balcony. You may want a jacket or light coat, but there is no danger of catching a draught."

She thought it over and smiled. "Sure. I'll have a wrap brought and we'll be out there presently."

He bowed again and withdrew.

Kristoff gave her a meaningful look. "Remember what Carlos said about a trap?"

"I hardly think a telescope qualifies." She tugged his arm. "C'mon. We'll go tell Elsa. She can keep an eye on things, too."

"Good."

A quarter-hour later Anna and Kristoff showed up on the balcony, and stood open-mouthed. Anna took a couple of steps forward, staring. "When you said 'telescope', I thought … wow. That thing's enormous!"

The two telescopes occupied opposite ends of the balcony. The larger device that caught Anna's eye was set up on its own dais, raised about an ell above the floor, with a short railing all around. There was room there for maybe two people at a time.

"Thank you, Your Highness. This is a 400-millimeter reflector from the Austrian Conservatory of Science. We just got it set up, and wanted for you to have the first opportunity to experience it." He turned and indicated the smaller instrument. "This one is a 150-millimeter version. It doesn't have the incredible resolution of the larger one, but offers quite amazing views in its own right."

"Wow. Oh, wow, this is so cool!" She moved over toward the larger telescope. "How do I work it?"

"Ah, well. That, as the saying goes, is best left to experts." He indicated another, shorter man standing behind him. "Doctor von Mandel will adjust it for you. He has several views pre-set on the controls."

"… Controls?"

"Yes. It is quite a delicate instrument, and is positioned with high-precision clockwork-driven gear-sets."

"Huh. Okay."

The Doctor climbed the three steps to the telescope floor and offered her a hand up. Kristoff helped, too, whereupon she gave him a slightly exasperated look. "You do recall that I climb mountains, right?"

"I recall that you look ridiculous while _attempting_ to climb mountains."

She stuck her tongue out at him and stepped up to the telescope. "Okay, cool. What do I do?"

After a brief explanation, she put her face to the eyepiece, and gasped. "Wow! Is that _Saturn?"_

"It is, indeed. Note that the rings …" He went into a monologue to which she paid scant attention.

Alexander addressed Kristoff. "Your Highness? Would you care to try the other one?"

The big blond was, by this time, comfortably familiar with the castle and its environs. He knew, for example, that there were no windows directly above this balcony, and no other way to access it than the room they'd recently quit. Giving the big telescope and its position a hard look, he decided that she would be safe enough from seven or eight paces away. Nodding, he said, "Sure. Let's do it."

Over the next five minutes or so, the two of them became completely engrossed in the wonders of the night sky. At that point, Doctor von Mandel said, "There is something quite special I would like to show you, if you will allow me to make some adjustments."

"Sure, sure! This is great!"

Half a minute later, he indicated the eyepiece and said, "Take a look."

She offered him a small frown. "But … it's pointed at the fjord. What-"

"As I said, it is quite a special view."

A weird uneasiness settled into her gut, but she moved into position anyway. As she placed her eye over the lens, he leaned in close and whispered, "You should be extremely quiet for the next few moments while I explain what you are seeing."

Anna's heart skipped several beats; her breath stopped. He had pointed the device at a ship in the harbor. With perfect clarity, lantern light illuminated Hilde's terrified face where she was gagged and tied to the main mast. A man in a long coat held a knife against her chest.

Von Mandel's voice was acid to her ear. "You and I need to have a long, frank conversation about Arendelle's future, away from the influence of your esteemed sister."

"You … slimy … bastard."

"Gently, Highness, gently. Your little friend's continued health depends entirely upon your acting ability over the next few minutes."

Her slitted eyes found his. She ground out, "And you couldn't just ask for a damn meeting?"

"Sadly, no. It is obvious that the Snow Queen would not be amenable to reason without a bit of leverage."

"Reason?!" Her withering gaze should have blasted him where he stood. A couple of hard breaths later, she muttered, "Fine. How do I get her back?"

"You will need to slip away from the party and get down to the ship. Do you see which berth it occupies?"

"Yes."

"I gave them a signal while I was aiming the telescope. You now have thirty minutes to get to that ship. You will be watched. If you raise any sort of alarm, she dies. If the Queen gets involved, she dies. If you are late, my compatriot will slowly, painfully slice open her gut, pull out her intestines, and hold them up in front of her face while cutting them into pieces."

Anna's head swam at his description. He roughly gripped her elbow. "Don't falter at this stage of the game, Highness. Her life is in your hands."

Steadying herself, Anna pressed close until their noses nearly touched. "You'll pay for this. I swear to _God_ , you'll pay."

"Time is flying, Highness. I suggest you give your husband the slip. Soon." He turned back to the telescope, fussing with the controls and murmuring distractedly.

Anna stepped down from the dais and composed herself. Kristoff noticed and was at her side in five strides. "Is everything all right, Sweetheart?"

It took her a couple of breaths to organize her thoughts, and then she said, "Yeah. That was totally cool. But for some reason, I'm awful tired."

"Dancing for two hours, maybe?"

"I guess." She squirmed a bit. "Also, I need the privy."

"Ah. Huh." He stepped from one foot to the other. "You know, that's a good idea, come to mention it."

"Let's use that paired set down past the kitchen. That way we can go at the same time and not take so long."

He considered her suggestion and quirked his lips. "That's kind of a long way."

"It's not so bad. And I like the way that one's made."

He gave her a searching look, but finally shrugged. It took a little over two minutes to arrive at their destination, and each went into one of the small rooms. As soon as Kristoff was settled, Anna slipped back into the hall and studied his door. It opened inward, so blocking it was out. Looking around, she spied a suit of armor with a long battle-axe leaning against it. _Carefully, quietly_ , she took the weapon's haft, a thick length of oak, and _carefully, quietly_ slipped it through the door handle so that it rested against the wall on either side. Then she tore off down the hall away from the party, hoping her one wrap would be sufficient protection from the night's chill, and checking to make sure the necklace Elsa had given her was securely at her throat.

. . .

. . .

. . .

She still had six minutes to spare when she ran up the gangplank. Two men materialized and held daggers close to her sides. The taller of the two pointed aft and said, "This way please."

"Not without Hilde."

They looked at each other. The shorter one shrugged and nodded, giving a signal of some sort to someone she couldn't see. Thirty seconds later, he hustled back with the petite brunette and both women were marched aft to a cabin and shoved inside.

Anna worked quickly and got her friend untied, whereupon Hilde grabbed her in a fierce hug and began sobbing. "I'm s-sorry! Sorry! S-so s-sorry! All my f-fault, didn't p-pay attention and let-let them lead me out to th-the garden and then I was too shocked to s-scream and then they ha-had me tied up and I'm so, s-so _sorry!"_

"Shh … shh … it's okay. Things will work out."

Hilde's words came out punctuated by small hiccups. "They told me … most horrible … things they were … going to do to me."

"Hilde! Look at me."

Desperate gray-green eyes met Anna's.

"It will be okay. We'll get out of this. You have to stay with me now, okay? Understand?"

Hilde nodded.

Anna sat them both on the narrow bunk and arranged her wrap and the scratchy wool blanket around them. "We'll wait for a bit to see if Elsa has a plan. If nothing turns up by tomorrow night, I'll see what I can do myself."

"… You?" The incredulous doubt in her eyes nearly made Anna laugh, notwithstanding their dire straits.

"Yes, me. For now, we'll just stay with each other."

After a moment, Hilde nodded again. "Okay."

Five minutes after that, they could feel the ship moving. Ten minutes after _that_ , exhaustion caught up with them and they fell asleep.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _I'd be curious to know if anyone saw that coming._**

 ** _All comments welcome!_**


	8. Open Water

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **The Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt do all in thy power to avoid pissing off the Snow Queen, that thy days be not short upon the earth.**_

 _ **Supplementary Author's Note: With this post, I have caught up to the number of chapters extant prior to the re-write. So for all future installments, reviews ought to work fine. Carry on.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: Open Water**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Castle Arendelle– Saturday 04 December 1841, 11:50pm_

Alexander and von Mandel, after a bit of creative persuasion, provided much of the information Elsa desired.

Not quite half an hour had passed since someone had heard Kristoff yelling and slamming his shoulder frenziedly against the privy door (he'd broken his sword trying to cut through the heavy wood). Less than eight minutes later, the entire party of 'Austrians' found themselves encased in individual cells of ice … sharp, hard, uncomfortable ice. When Elsa and Carlos determined that Anna was already out of range of their ability to find her via the astral plane, they joined their minds and began the interrogation. It took little effort to get the men to spill their guts, once they understood the consequences of refusal, and the fact that the Snow Queen appeared to know it every time they tried to lie. The notion that she might be able to hear their thoughts horrified them.

 _No, they were not all, or even most, Austrian. Over half were French._

 _Yes, they were here to coerce Elsa into helping them._

 _No, they didn't have any official connection with the French crown. As far as they knew, Louis Philippe was unaware of their mission. This was an effort of the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs._

 _Yes, they planned to use Anna as leverage from the start. It was Cardin's idea._

 _No, the Countess wasn't here. Neither was Cardin. They left yesterday._

 _Yes, Anna was taken away by sea._

 _No, they didn't know where the ship was headed. Cardin had a separate crew for that, just in case things … well … turned out the way they did._

 _Yes, Cardin was in charge. He paid the bills. He had arranged everything._

 _No, they didn't know if Minister Thiers was involved. Why would he be?_

 _Yes, they were supposed to stay in Arendelle until they heard from Cardin._

 _No, they did not know that the Countess wasn't a Countess, or from Savoy._ (That information truly shocked them.)

 _Yes, Anna's safety was assured. They'd never any intention of going so far as to injure her. They weren't sure about Hilde, though. She wasn't necessary to the plan, which hinged upon fixing it so that Emperor Ferdinand took the blame for the kidnapping if things didn't work out._

Elsa stomped off to the other end of the room, squeezing her fists so tightly her nails threatened to draw blood. Carlos followed, laid gentle hands on her shoulders.

 _ **[[ We can find her. We know they're at sea now, and they can't be many leagues away yet, not traveling by ship. ]]**_

 _[[_ So _not the point. Why didn't Anna tell me anything? Why trap Kristoff? He's going to be_ livid _when he finds out! ]]_

 _ **[[ You know how much Anna loves Hilde. I'm sure, given what von Mandel said to her, she thought she didn't have a choice. ]]**_

Elsa sighed, turned to him, and leaned into his embrace. "They won't leave us alone. Won't leave _me_ alone."

"Us. From now on, there is only 'us', not just you."

She hugged him fiercely. _[[ Love you so much! ]]_

 _ **[[ Maybe even as much as I love you. ]]**_

 _[[ I'm going to send some birds after them. ]]_

 _ **[[ Good idea. ]]**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _On the_ Carolina _, Off the Coast of Norway, Sunday 05 December, 1841, 9:20am_

The next morning Hilde had a chance to witness Anna's amazing powers … of persuasion.

The Princess had attracted a guard's attention, finagled a talk with the group's leader, and secured permission to walk along the deck so they could watch the sun come up. "After all," she had insisted, "we're in the middle of the ocean, right? It's not as if I could jump ship. Drowning isn't something I'm interested in experimenting with quite yet. And I'm _reasonably_ sure you'd like for me to stay in _reasonably_ good health, right? That may be more easily accomplished if we aren't closed up in this stuffy cabin. For Goodness's sake, there's mold in here! Also, this is the first time I've ever been out on the ocean, and I'd reeeeeally love to see the sunrise on the water, and-"

Less than ten minutes of wheedling was all she needed to get them out into the open air. The kidnappers' leader, an auburn-haired man named, ironically, Hans, stuck to her side, a dagger carelessly tucked into his belt. Deciding on a conciliatory tactic, she engaged him in conversation as they watched the dawn break, quickly deducing that he had a thorough education and therefore was either a member of the peerage somewhere, or part of a wealthy house. Their topics ranged far and wide. Anna found herself ruefully admitting that if he weren't currently holding her captive, he'd probably make a delightful addition to one of her dinner parties.

The small group paused at the rear of the ship and watched their wake for a moment. Anna gave Hilde a sly wink, then turned and faced the man fully, shaking her head with a rueful smile. "Honestly, I would have expected your bunch to do better research."

"About what?"

"Elsa."

"I believe we researched her quite thoroughly."

"Ha. No. I don't think you have any idea of the depths of Elsa's revulsion to the very _concept_ of using her powers for conquest. It is _not_ gonna happen."

"I understand that she holds _you_ in the highest regard. She would do _anything_ to ensure your safety. She's done it before."

"But not where using her powers would harm others."

"She killed one of the gang that took you."

Anna's mouth opened in rebuttal, but then … how to explain Morana? Or Blending? "But that was something that _he_ … I mean … It wasn't her … well. She, um, wasn't herself, you might say."

"And with you missing, she likely won't be herself again." He grinned smugly. "She cares about your safety. She won't take chances. She'll do what we ask. Just the way you did."

Crossing her arms and leaning against the railing, Anna pondered him for a moment then asked, "And what might that be?"

"What concern is it of yours?"

She gave him a snort. "You might say I'm in the thick of things. Your plot, whatever it is, obviously depends on my being here. I'd say that gives me as much cause to know what you hope to gain as anyone."

He studied her face. She didn't know what he was looking for, but it seemed to satisfy him. "I suppose so. After she does what we want, there won't be any way to undo it." He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "This is the abbreviated version. There are factions at work in France that seek to reverse what we accomplished in overthrowing the Bourbons. Louis Philippe's days as King are numbered, and our cabal is poised to turn the coming chaos to our favor. We will all get ridiculously, stinking rich. But to do that, we need to have Austria out of the way."

"Um, yeah. I picked up on that.

"… Picked up on what?"

"On the fact that you guys aren't Austrian. Didn't know why you were pretending, though."

That brought him up short. "You did? When?"

"Oh, I don't know. A week ago? Maybe ten days?"

He gripped one of her arms. Hard. "What of the Queen?"

Yanking out of his grasp, she took a step back. "You don't get to do that." She heard Hilde gasp behind her.

Grabbing at her again, he yelped when she nailed his shin with a kick. He glared at her while rubbing his leg. "That's going to cost you."

"Bad idea. Things weren't exactly great up to now, but you're just a cog in the machine. You aren't calling the shots. However, trying to physically hurt _me?_ You gotta know that's a short road to a painful death."

"Mighty big words coming from someone stuck among enemies in the middle of the ocean."

"I don't think so. I went with you out of concern for Hilde, but you are _about_ to cross a line. Confidentially, if you know what's good for you, you'll drop Hilde and me at the next port and try to lose yourself in the Americas somewhere."

He stared her down for a few breaths, his hazel eyes practically glowing with frustration. "Samuel? Would you and Leif show the Princess and her companion back to their cabin? And make sure her door is locked."

Anna flashed him a quick smile, which only seemed to infuriate him, and tossed back, "Don't say you weren't warned."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, 10:45am_

Elsa tensed. Carlos noticed instantly, and moved up to lay his hand over one of hers. "Yes?"

"I think I've got them."

"Where?"

"Unless my reckoning is way off, they're just out of sight of Midbrødøya, heading south."

"Okay. Not too far. Are you sure it's them?"

"This is only the third ship I've come across, and the others were fishing boats. This one's a tall ship, and they've rigged every scrap of sail it'll hold."

"But you don't see Anna?"

"Give me a moment." She concentrated …

* * *

 _On the_ Carolina

There is 'traveling' and then there is 'traveling as a prisoner'.

Anna and Hilde huddled together to stay warm. They'd been supplied no brazier, so it was chilly and damp in their cabin, despite being in the middle of the ship. Hilde would periodically fight down a sob, and Anna would comfort her, insisting that they would be rescued and that it wouldn't be long.

On deck, the crew were constantly adjusting the sails to eke out every bit of speed they could muster. Hans and Captain Skye stood at the conn, discussing their options. The Captain (a loose term at best, given his history) had overheard Hans's altercation with the Princess, and had been grilling the man for the last few minutes. "You said she was a runaway!"

"No, I said she'd been misplaced. And since she wasn't where we wanted her, that was true."

"But you told me this was a simple pick-up-and-deliver!"

"It is."

"How is any part of this simple, huh? What if my men find out? You think they wouldn't toss us overboard in a heartbeat?"

"I have it under control."

"Bullshit. Nobody messes with the Ice Witch. Not since she took out those pirates last spring. A few of my crew were there and saw it with their own eyes. You got no idea."

"She won't do anything to us as long as her sister's on board. How could she?"

Captain Skye leaned over and spit, then looked him in the eye. "Magic."

Hans scoffed. "It's not the be-all and end-all you seem to think it is. We whisked Princess Anna away right under the Queen's nose. Where was her vaunted magic then?" He shook his head. "She has command of ice. That's all."

"All?" The overburden of incredulity in that one word almost had physical mass. "It might've slipped by you, but we're on open water. You know, the stuff ice is _made of?_ She can make ice creatures. She did it to chase down the ones what took the Princess last time."

"Yes. Creatures. Big spidery things unsuitable for sailing."

"Don't mean she can't make a boat, now does it?"

"You worry too much. All we need to do is stick to the plan. We will be in Farsund this afternoon. You dock, we leave, you get the rest of your money, everybody's happy."

* * *

 _Arendelle_

"Farsund, is it? Good to know."

Carlos asked, "Where is that bird? I can't quite see …"

"Clinging to the side of the ship, just under the edge of the deck."

"Ah. That's how we can hear them so well."

Elsa huffed, "Why is it that every 'Hans' I've encountered is an utter scoundrel?"

"Oh, I'm sure you've come across a few that you didn't know about. Statistically, some of them would have to be upstanding fellows."

"So you say." She frowned, concentrating on the rest of the near flock.

"How many do you have there now?"

"Fourteen. I'm maneuvering them in as we speak."

* * *

Elsa had altered them to resemble gulls. One bird lit on the forecastle. Another landed at the rear of the poop deck. Both dropped into concealed positions and began to swell. And change. Wings became forelimbs, beaks elongated and grew saw-like teeth, icy tail feathers joined and hardened, arching up over the back in a long series of articulated sections, ending in needle sharp spikes. Their black eyes alert, the creatures crouched, hiding, waiting …

Eight flew down and perched on the heavy iron ring that gripped the mainmast where the lowest boom crossed it. They huddled close to the wood, shoulder to shoulder. Their outlines became indistinct as they flowed together, encircling the mast …

The remaining four shrank and shrank until they were the size of small beetles, then flew into the darkness below deck …

* * *

Hilde napped as Anna hummed a soft tune. She was beginning to nod off herself, until a faint scratching caught her ear over the regular creak and groan of ship's timbers. Carefully she eased away from her friend and moved to the door. The noise seemed to be coming from the threshold. Anna curled her fingers around the jewel on her necklace.

The tiny ice-bug that worked its way under the door pulled a huge sigh of relief from the Princess. She knelt and held out her hand so it could crawl into her palm, whereupon it expanded into the shape of a thick piece of paper.

Hilde stirred on the cot and sat up, stretching out her back, then looked over at Anna. "What's that you've-"

Making a quick shushing motion, Anna stepped over and plopped down beside her. She whispered, "This is from Elsa."

Her eyes growing quite round, Hilde watched as words formed on the flat surface:

BE READY TO

LEAVE THE SHIP

"What does she mean?"

"It means our ride is here."

"… I don't understand."

A subtle clicking sound came from the door. The girls watched as another translucent blue insect crawled out of the lock and flipped down to the floor. It quickly grew and changed until it looked a bit like a dwarf, then pulled the door open a tiny crack and gestured for the pair.

Eight seconds later the main mast came crashing to the deck.

* * *

Carlos grinned in appreciation. "Now _that_ is classy."

"Thanks."

"How'd you get it to do that?"

"I changed the birds into a ring of hard ice around the mast. Then I grew spikes on the inside that began forcing their way into the wood, weakening the grain, and had them spiral in toward the middle."

"Nice!"

"It didn't take long for the wind to snap it."

"So now they're dead in the water."

"Mostly, until they can get it cleaned up." The tip of her tongue stuck out one corner of her mouth as she worked her magic. "And now it's time to get that silly sister of mine to safety."

* * *

Anna looked out into the passage, then took Hilde's hand and scurried after the ice-gnome as it headed aft. At the foot of the ladder two sailors were laid out cold. There were three more piled against the aft railing.

The two women both winced at the volume and creativity of cursing coming from the other direction. Hunkering down so as not to attract any attention, they scurried to the rear of the ship. Anna was entirely unsurprised to find a long ramp of ice, ending at a sleek, white boat bobbing on the water in their wake. "Okay, then. Over we go."

Hilde had no argument. Half a minute later they were heading north, away from the damaged ship, and picking up speed all the time. A transparent shell of ice formed over the passengers, even as a pair of outriggers extended from the sides of the boat, lifting them slightly off the ocean's surface. By the time anyone thought to check on them, they were out of sight over the horizon.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, 7:40pm_

The sun had set two hours hence. A heavy overcast blocked any light from the sky. That normally would have covered the fjord in impenetrable darkness.

Instead, Elsa caused the speeding catamaran to glow. That meant the small party waiting on it at the dock had no trouble tracking its progress. As it neared the quay, the outriggers transformed into long, spindly legs, carrying the vessel up onto the stonework, where it lowered itself to the ground and whiffed into sparkling vapor.

Hilde's mother ran forward and folded her daughter into a fierce hug, both immediately dissolving into tears of joy.

Anna's reception was a tad … cooler. Elsa stepped up in front of her, hands clasped at her waist, expression carefully neutral, and said, "Welcome back."

Anna dropped the arms she was in the process of extending. Stood there for a second or two while processing the situation, and said, quietly, "Um … thanks?"

"I feel relatively sure you have not the faintest _clue_ how worried I was."

"Yeah, actually, I think I do. And I'm sorry, really I am, but I didn't have time to come up with anything fancy and they were watching me and they had Hilde down on that ship tied up and-"

Elsa put two fingers over Anna's lips, frowning. When the redhead stilled, she removed her hand and said, "von Mandel explained to me what he had told you. He gave you the ultimatum of going with them, or watching Hilde die."

"Exactly! And he said I was being watched and that I couldn't give any kind of alarm or try to talk to you or make any-"

"Bup-bup-bup!" Those fingers were back. Anna shut up, and Elsa continued. "You had von Mandel's full attention, did you not?"

"… Yyyyyeah. I guess."

"And you and he were the only ones on the platform, were you not?"

"Um …" Anna thought hard. Had there been anyone close? "Yeah. I think."

"So you could have given him a counter-ultimatum where no one else could hear you. You could have told him he had the choice of releasing Hilde, whereupon they would be allowed to leave, or, if he harmed the girl, spending a few weeks starving in the dungeon before participating in a public, lengthy, and extraordinarily painful execution."

"But-"

"That's what I would have done."

"No, you would have frozen the guy holding the knife to Hilde's throat and spirited her away on one of your ice creatures."

A roll of her eyes preceded Elsa rebutting, "That's what I would have done _in your shoes."_

She rocked slowly back and forth. "I didn't think of that."

"Obviously. But you should have."

"Well … I'm sorry. All I could think of was getting Hilde to safety."

"Which you did not. The two of you would have been in a cell in Farsund by now if I hadn't found you."

"I, uh, sort of … expected you to do that."

"Anna!"

"I'm sorry! It all just jumbled up and I did what I thought I had to do and … and I had to trust that you'd find us, 'cause you're awesome and stuff, and … and …"

At that point Elsa took the shorter girl into her arms and held her close. "I know. I get it. But this is the second time someone has taken you to get to me. Admittedly the goals were different, but the procedure amounted to the same thing."

"Only this time I knew they couldn't really hurt me."

"You _don't_ know that, and I wish to _Heaven_ you'd stop jumping into _crazy_ situations while depending on _luck_ to save you!"

Anna fought down a lump in her throat. She'd certainly not meant to hurt her sister. "Okay, Elsa. I promise. If something weird like this happens again, I'll consider all the angles. All of 'em I can think up, anyway. I know I sort of just popped off this time, and … yeah. It was a mistake. We could have avoided … um, a lot of stuff. You're right, and I'm wrong." She sniffed, trembling with the effort of holding back her tears. "Again. Guess I need to be ... different."

Elsa leaned back far enough to kiss her forehead. "You are not _wrong_. You have a big heart, and you're the bravest person I know. I love you. I don't _want_ you to change. But I _do_ want you to use that perfectly functional brain of yours."

After swallowing hard a couple of times, Anna managed to squeak out, "Okay. Promise."

"Good." Elsa let her go and then Anna watched as the Sister moved back and the Queen took her place. "Now that we have that settled, I believe you need to have a conversation with your husband."

This was, indeed, the part Anna had been dreading. She had concocted and dismissed a good three dozen scenarios/excuses during their trip back to Arendelle, and finally had decided to throw herself on the Mercy of the Court. She took small steps over to where Kristoff stood, arms crossed, his face unreadable. "Um … hi."

Not a word, not a motion did he make.

"I'm, um, sorry about the door thing."

He might as well have been a statue.

"It wasn't that I didn't _trust_ you, it's just that von Mandel-"

"Please stop talking."

She did, looking up at him with huge eyes. Her lower lip started trembling again.

He took the two steps that put him right in front of her, laid both hands on her shoulders. "Elsa didn't tell me what you did until you were away from the ship and safe, so I haven't had enough time to think it over yet. Not completely. We are going to talk about this, and talk about it a _lot_ , believe me, but we'll do it later, when I'm _not_ furious and I _won't_ say anything I might regret. As for right now …" He bent and lifted her and slung her over a shoulder. "Right now we are going home. And I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Elsa and Carlos managed to muffle their amusement as he stomped off up the street toward the castle, Anna gazing back at them with a slightly pleading look.

Kristoff took them straight to their rooms, immediately removed Anna's clothes, and made savage love to his wife all night long. She was walking bow-legged at lunch the next day, but despite that was in a remarkably chipper mood.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note: Fear not, Gentle Reader, we aren't done with Cardin and the ex-Regent yet. Not by any means._**

 ** _All Comments welcome!_**


	9. Payback

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **You just knew it was going to happen, didn't you?**_

 _ **As mentioned before, I've caught up to the chapter numbers I used in the first attempt at this story, before I decided that presenting it as a crazy-quilt was a bad idea, so comments are again enabled.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: Payback**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Farsund, Monday 06 December, 1841, 5:40pm_

The _Carolina_ didn't limp into port until after dark the day following Anna's rescue.

Captain Skye hadn't allowed Hans's group to leave until he got a written contract guaranteeing payment for his broken mast. Then they were ushered off the ship at gunpoint.

Most of the men peeled off to drown their sorrows in the dockside taverns. Hans and one other walked up the Barbros Gate road toward town, defeat battling dread on their features. Overhead, a blue-white gull tracked their progress.

They turned right on Stradgaten, plodding more slowly the farther they went, finally stopping after a few turns in front of a house that fronted a small park. They stood there, looking up at it. After a minute, Hans steeled himself, said, "Wait here," and knocked. He was shortly allowed inside.

A small, translucent bird lit on a roof-beam across the narrow way from the house Hans had entered; in the evening darkness, it was essentially invisible. It flicked around until it had a good view of the light coming from the front windows. Back in Arendelle, Elsa and Carlos watched grimly.

The doorman showed Hans into the front parlor where Maria Cristina waited for him. Her hands were primly crossed on her lap, her back half-a-span from the upholstery of the ornate chair. She looked him up and down once. Her eyes flicked to a spot behind him. Then she quietly asked, "Why didn't you bring her with you? You know the ship isn't as secure as this house."

He swallowed nervously a couple of times. "Um … well …"

A frown came to rest on her brow. "What? Don't tell me the kidnapping failed! You wouldn't be here if that were true!"

"Um … no. We got her."

"Well and good. Then kindly produce her." She waved an indulgent hand. "You can keep her mousey little maid for yourself, with my thanks."

Hans shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.  
… Failed to meet her eyes.  
… Cleared his throat.  
… Again.  
… "We, um … lost her."

Maria Cristina stared a hole right through him. "Lost her."

"Yes, Mum."

"But you just told me your efforts to capture her were successful."

"Ah … yes, Mum."

She stood. "Then how did you lose her? Did a slip of a girl overpower you and take your ship?"

"… No."

"Care to elaborate?"

"We, ah, ran into some, ah, difficulties. There was a, um, a problem with the, uh, sails, and while we were busy with that, she, um … we, uh, think she, uh … picked the lock and, um … escaped." He carefully neglected to mention the five crewmen who'd been bludgeoned unconscious. They had no explanation for that either.

Her mouth opened and shut twice. "Escaped."

"She wasn't on the ship. We searched, uh, thoroughly. Quite thoroughly. Yes. Quite."

"And you were in the middle of the ocean."

"Uh … we were out of, ah, sight of land. So to speak."

"Then where did she go?"

"We, um, we assu-su-sume she went over the side."

"Into the ocean."

"Yes, Mum."

"Into the freezing, nearly-mid-winter North Sea? _That_ ocean? The one in which she could not _possibly_ have survived for more than a few minutes, much less swum to shore? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I, uh, that is, we, um … can't think of anywhere else she, um … might have gone."

The ex-Regent glared at him for a slow count of four, then she abruptly spun around and bellowed, **"Cardiiiiin!"**

The man shortly appeared, looking quite flustered. "What the devil? Cease your infernal shrieking, woman!"

She pointed at Hans. "He has something to tell you." Then she stomped off toward the rear of the house.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a drink."

Cardin stared at her retreating back for a moment, then turned his lowering gaze on Hans. "Well?"

* * *

The tiny bird flitted from the left side of the house, which was devoid of openings, around to the right, spying a coal chute. It was the work of but a minute to gain entry, then the transformed ice golem, as a tiny fly, made its way into the inner rooms.

Hans was halfway through his explanation when the fly found their room. It parked itself in an upper corner and listened in.

* * *

Maria Cristina stormed through her rooms until she found Fleurette. "Come on. We're going out."

The girl blinked at her, but didn't object. She was used to her Mistress's odd ways, and simply retrieved their coats, hats, gloves, and boots. Five minutes later they were walking purposefully down the street. Fleurette chanced a question. "Do we have a specific destination in mind, Mum?"

"Bondeheimen's place."

The girl mulled that over and gave a tiny nod. "They do have the best coffee."

"They also have akvavit."

"Ah. So they do." Fleurette thought to herself that this might be one of those evenings when she would be hailing a hansom cab to take them back to their house. She decided not to comment on that as she pocketed the larger money-purse to go with the regular clutch. She felt they would need it.

* * *

 _[[ That's interesting. They think Anna killed herself? And Hilde? That doesn't make any sense. ]]_

 _ **[[ I think they're grasping at straws. They didn't see her leave. They have no way of knowing that your magic could extend that far. They're drawing the only conclusion they can, given what they know. ]]**_

 _[[ Ah. Listen … ]]_

* * *

Cardin was swelling, positively _glowing_ with fury as he shouted at Hans. "You mean to tell me … with a hundred and fifty men on the ship … you buffoons couldn't keep your eyes … on two … young … girls?" He punctuated his question with blows about Hans's head and shoulders.

The other man tried to defend himself. "It musta been magic! Ow! The Queen – ow! – she must have – _**ow**_ , stoppit! – must have taken her!"

"You think the _Queen_ broke your mast? It's wood, not ice! How stupid are you?"

"No, not her! The mast just broke! They break, sometimes."

"Then how could Elsa's ice magic have taken the Princess? Did the sea freeze?"

"Um … no."

"Did ice monsters show up and whisk her away to freedom?" Sarcasm dripped off every word.

"… No."

Cardin got right up in his face and bellowed, "Then how did you lose her?"

Cringing, Hans whimpered, "I dunno! Maybe she thought she could swim to shore!"

The Frenchman drew back, his chest heaving with frustrated anger. Turning, he stalked around to the other side of his desk and rested both fists on the blotter, staring down at the green, felted surface. After a couple of breaths, he looked up, training his newly-bloodshot gaze on Hans. "You will find her."

"How are we supposed to do that?"

"Get on another ship and get your worthless ass back to Arendelle. If she's not there, start searching the coast. If she's alive – and she probably isn't – she must have come ashore _somewhere_. At the very least, you need to find her body."

"I can't search the whole flaming coast! That's insane!"

Cardin's eyes flamed. "Insane? No. Let me tell you what 'insane' is. 'Insane' is going in front of Minister Thiers and telling him that not only did our conspiracy fail, but we managed, in the bargain, to _**kill**_ the dearly beloved _sister_ of the most … _powerful_ … _being_ … on _Earth!_ " He was punching the desk top this time. "He'll have us hanged, drawn and quartered, and the pieces fed to hogs!"

* * *

 _ **[[ So. Minister Thiers truly**_ **is** _ **at the top of this dung heap. That's all I need to know. ]]**_

 _[[ Let's make them comfy, shall we? ]]_

* * *

Hans curled his fingers into fists, trembling with fear and indignation and the overwhelming sense of unfairness this situation gave him. "I didn't _ask_ for this job! _You_ came to _me_ , remember?"

That statement, so recently heard from his least-favorite former Regent in the world, pushed Cardin over the edge. Through gritted teeth, he said, "You've ruined me. But you won't have to worry about the consequences." He jerked open the desk drawer, pulled out a pistol, and leveled it, along-side his feral gaze, at Hans.

"No! Wait! I'll do it! I'll-"

The report reverberated through the big house.

Cardin held the gun out straight for three ragged breaths, then dropped it to his side, sagging noticeably. He flopped down into the chair and leaned back, eyes closed, muttering, "This whole enterprise has foundered on the reef of bad fortune." He stayed there, unmoving, for a long moment, but finally roused himself and went to look for a servant to clean up the mess. Hans's rather inconvenient death had ruined an expensive carpet.

* * *

Wincing in shock, Elsa paused in her magical construction and murmured, "Dear God. Mssr. Cardin never displayed a temper like that during his time in Arendelle."

Carlos snorted softly. "He never had the need."

"Bloodthirsty bunch, aren't they?"

"Desperate men do stupid things. Not that the world will miss Hans, but Cardin just lost his scapegoat."

"Eh. I suppose it makes no difference. Cardin won't have to worry about Thiers enacting any sort of revenge on him, since he'll be rotting in our dungeon."

Carlos observed her weaving the stuff of the astral plane, impressed all over again with her mastery of magic. "How shall we fetch them back? The subtle approach, or the not-so-subtle?"

"I believe I would still like to stay as unnoticed as is feasible. As it is, the house will cause enough comment."

"True. So … the sky there is overcast. You want to do it tonight?"

"I think I'll gin up a little rain first. Cold rain, mixed with sleet, to keep everyone indoors who doesn't have to be outside."

"I like it."

She wrapped up her warding and tied it off with a flourish. "Now to let them in on the secret."

* * *

Cardin had been sitting at his desk, head slumped on a fist, for a few minutes. One of his servants, a fellow named Simon, had just dragged Hans's body away … but the man stuck his head back in the room, spotted Cardin, and stepped in. "Sir?"

He couldn't be bothered to open his eyes or move anything apart from his mouth. "… What?"

"We, ah … seem to be locked in the house."

Blinking twice in confusion, Cardin brought his head up and said, "What do you mean by that?"

"I've tried all the doors, and all the windows on this floor. I've sent Lars upstairs, but I expect he will find the same. They are all sealed, and rimed in ice."

The Frenchman stared at him, sudden sweat glinting on his brow, then leaped from the chair and ran to the front door. As reported, ice covered it, and the wall beside it to more than half an ell. The knob wouldn't turn, and the intense cold burned his hand when he tried it. He whirled back around to stare at Simon, then tore off to the nearest fireplace, where he grabbed a poker. Yanking the curtains away from the window opposite, he smashed it with the poker. The glass shattered, but stayed frozen in place. Several more whacks managed to dislodge most of the glass, but failed to so much as _mark_ the opaque, white panel behind it.

* * *

 _[[ Oh, this is going to be fun! ]]_

 _ **[[ Have at him, Sweetheart. ]]**_

* * *

As Cardin stood there panting, his panic mounting, words appeared on the ice:

LOUIS CARDIN,  
YOU HAVE BEEN  
WEIGHED AND  
FOUND WANTING.

YOUR DOOM  
IS UPON YOU.

With a sudden shriek, he fled to the center of the house, cowering in an inner room.

Simon, his face passing between interest and trepidation, addressed the window. "Have I the pleasure of communicating with Queen Elsa of Arendelle?"

After a pause, accompanied by a soft glow and a softer hissing sound, the words shifted, re-formed.

YOU DO.

"Then you must know that he orchestrated the kidnapping of the Princess."

YES.

He bowed low. "Your humble servant."

Though of course Simon couldn't see it, Carlos and Elsa exchanged a quick, surprised glance. She quirked an eyebrow. He shrugged. She turned back to her manipulation of eldritch forces.

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

"My name is Simon, Your Majesty; and may I complement you on the effects of your magic."

INDEED?  
AND WHY WOULD THAT BE?

"Mssr. Cardin has held me in his service via what may be charitably termed _blackmail_ these past four years. If my supposition is correct, he will no longer have the power to threaten my family. That is if Your Majesty intends, as I hope, to incarcerate him?"

INCARCERATION  
IS WHERE IT BEGINS.  
WHETHER HE KEEPS HIS LIFE  
IS YET TO BE SEEN.

Simon dropped to one knee and inclined his head. "Then I am content."

YOU DO NOT FEAR  
FOR YOUR OWN LIFE?

"I do not. What you may do with me is of no consequence. With Cardin safely held, he won't be able to exact his evil upon my family."

WHAT DOES HE HAVE  
AGAINST YOUR FAMILY?

It was a couple of breaths before he said anything. Then, quietly, "We are Jews, Your Majesty."

I SEE.  
AND CARDIN DOES  
NOT LIKE JEWS?

"He hates us with a consuming passion. It pleases him to …"

"Bastard!" At this point, the man in question came barreling into the room, a long knife held high. Simon jerked away as Cardin ran at him. But a sudden sheet of ice appeared between them, and the Frenchman bounced off it. Hard. A transparent sphere encased his dropped knife where it sat on the floor. The icy wall swirled around and trapped Cardin in what amounted to a small cell.

MASTER SIMON, WOULD  
YOU BE KIND ENOUGH  
TO SEARCH THE HOUSE  
FOR WEAPONS?

"Right away, Your Majesty." Some four or five minutes passed before Simon returned, carrying a large sack about a third-full with knives and pistols. He also had a musket under one arm. "This does not represent the whole house, Your Majesty, as I fear the Countess's rooms were locked." Dumping them in front of the broken window, he backed off and watched – grinning broadly – as impenetrable ice covered them all.

WHAT IS YOUR  
SURNAME, SIMON?

"Isaacs, Your Majesty."

THANK YOU FOR  
YOUR SERVICE IN  
THIS, MR. ISAACS.

"The thanks must all be mine, and the honor all yours, Your Majesty." He couldn't seem to keep a straight face, as smiles insisted upon gracing his lips. "I know it was entirely by accident, but you have done me a tremendous, an _incalculable_ good in taking me out of Cardin's power." This time he leaned over in the direction of Cardin's cell and spat three times on the floor. "I can die content, knowing that my family is no longer at risk of being exposed."

BELIEVE ME,  
IT WAS MY PLEASURE.  
AND YOU NEEDN'T  
WORRY ABOUT DYING.  
I HAVE NO INTENTION  
OF HARMING YOU.

Simon looked around, spotted a wing-back chair, and pulled it over in front of the … rather unique communication device. Another servant came in at that point, saw what was going on, and asked, his voice full of tremors, "Is it the Ice Witch?"

"I'll thank you _not_ to call her a witch."

The man crossed himself and scampered away. Simon turned back to the window. "So. This is the most novel thing, by far, I have ever heard of, much less done. The tales concerning Your Majesty are many and varied, and it is so gratifying to see that they fail utterly to encompass the scope of your power."

I MUST SAY, I FIND  
YOUR APPROACH  
REFRESHING.  
SO MANY FEAR ME  
SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY  
DON'T KNOW ME.

"That is their loss, then." He leaned forward, his face eager. "Are you nearby outside? Will we be able to meet soon? I would like to pledge you my service in person as quickly as is feasible."

WE WILL MEET TOMORROW.

"Wonderful!"

I MUST GO NOW.  
THERE ARE ITEMS THAT  
NEED MY ATTENTION.

"Then I bid you the most pleasant of evenings." He rose and stretched. "Thanks to you, I will have my first night's untroubled sleep in four years." Placing the chair back where it had been, he made his way to his chamber, pausing briefly to give Cardin a wide grin, and run a finger across his throat slowly. The trapped Frenchman looked ill.

* * *

 _ **[[ It's a shame we couldn't get them all. ]]**_

 _[[_ _Yet_ _, dear. Yet. We have the two ringleaders. ]]_ Then she frowned. _[[ Hold on a second. I've been expecting her to make an appearance, but … ]]_ Wheeling the point of view around through the house until she came to the locked rooms, she moved her "eyes" to a point on a wall inside. The place was deserted. _[[ Blast! ]]_

 _ **[[ What? ]]**_

 _[[ The coat rack is empty. She must have left before … blast, blast, blast! ]]_

 _ **[[ You know, you**_ **are** _ **allowed to use strong language around me when it's called for, especially if no one else can hear you. ]]**_

Elsa crossed her arms and slumped in her chair.

Fighting down a grin, Carlos asked, "Are you … pouting?"

"No."

"It's ridiculously cute."

"Shut up."

He laughed and took her in his arms, swinging them around until she was comfortably on his lap. "So the harridan left before you sealed the house. No matter. Either we'll get her later or expose her later. Besides, she wasn't the mastermind."

"Ha. Obviously."

After holding her for a few more moments (always a pleasant endeavor) he asked, "Are things ready for the next phase?"

She sighed and straightened up. "Probably. Let me look."

A small bird formed at the peak of the house and detached itself, taking flight and flitting back and forth through the driving mixture of rain and sleet. No horses, no carriages, no pedestrians could be seen. (Hans's man had taken refuge in the doorway of a church a few hundred paces down the street.)

 _[[ It's all clear. ]]_

 ** _[[ Perfect. ]]_**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Farsund, 8:40pm_

The nature of the hardened water Elsa was using made it more soundproof than most building materials, so no one in the house heard the rising storm outside.

On the other hand …

Fleurette came back and stood beside Maria Cristina's table, fidgeting with her reticule. "Mistress? I fear the weather may not be to your liking."

"What? Wha' do you mean?" (She'd had her fair share to drink, and then some.)

"You will not wish to walk back to the house in freezing rain."

She waved the girl off. "Get a cab."

"Would it not be safer to stay here at the inn? It is getting colder out there by the minute, and …"

"Are y' deaf, girl? I said I want a cab!"

"Um … right. A cab." She hurried off. _I knew it would come to this. 'Get a cab, get a cab.' Stupid rain in stupid winter in stupid Norway._

Fleurette begged and pleaded, in her broken Norwegian, for twenty minutes, before she could find someone to take them back to the house, and he charged what she considered an outrageous sum to do it. (But then, he was the one sitting out in the elements while they had the closed carriage, and fair is fair.)

Their transport finally stopped. The cabby opened their door … and gave them a confused glare. "You said Kirkegaten, right? Be the fourth house on the right, yeah?"

Drawing back a little from the steady downpour of sleet and rain, Fleurette nodded.

He turned away and gestured … to where the house had been. There was a large gap instead.

Fleurette shook Maria Cristina awake. "Wha? We here?"

"There's not a 'here', Mistress."

Giving her an owlish stare, the ex-Regent said, "Huh?"

"Look. The house is gone."

Maria Cristina gazed dumbly at the bare lot where the building had been. "Where's th' house?"

"I told you, Mistress. It's gone. It isn't there anymore."

One thought burned through the alcoholic haze: _The Snow Queen._ She swallowed hard. "Get us to the docks."

The cabby began his objections, but she shouted him down. "The docks! Now! We have to get out of here!"

He tried to argue, but Fleurette placated him. "Sir, it is not much farther to the docks than it is back to Bondeheimen's place."

"Yeah, but Bondeheimen's is open. Lest you spend the night under a warehouse shed, you would better be served back at the inn."

That gave the women pause. Fleurette said, "He makes a good point. And our trunks appear to be gone anyway."

"Fine. The inn. Let's go." She huddled down in her seat. "But we leave with the first tide."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _I hope you all had as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it._**

 ** _Comments?_**


	10. Repercussions

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Elsa knows how to make a point so that it stays made.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Repercussions**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle, Tuesday 07 December, 1841, 2:10pm_

Throwing a majestic wake as it passed, a large, two-story house had sailed into the fjord shortly after noon. It currently sat (empty) on a nicely-square-and-level foundation of ice at the southern end of the city. Elsa planned to have it inspected for damage, repair it if necessary, and then return it to its original location.

Its former inhabitants were currently lined up in Elsa's throne room in front of Anna and her where they sat on gloriously intricate thrones of ice. Carlos stood behind and to the left of Elsa while Kristoff took his position behind and to the right of his bride. None of them looked even slightly amused.

At the left end of the line (from Elsa's perspective) stood Simon Isaacs. He was the only one currently unbound, and the only one standing, his head bowed in respect (though he still wasn't trying to fight off his smile). The other four servants, most of whom had yet to see their twentieth summer, knelt between him and Louis Cardin, whose drawn face held the pallor of death.

"So," said Elsa, "Master Isaacs, your opinion is that Mssr. Cardin's other employees hold no guilt for the things he has done?"

"Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty. They were hired back in October, when the house was leased. Mssr. Cardin saw each of them once, and then left."

"And they've been taking care of the house for the past two months? Nothing else?"

"One of us would leave the house to purchase supplies when needed, but only one at a time. Cardin left a schedule that had to be filled out. Whatever was bought had to be listed as well, and he had hired a lawyer to check in on us weekly."

"Meticulous sort, isn't he?"

"Under usual circumstances, yes, Your Majesty."

"Did no one express dissatisfaction with the arrangement?"

"Your Majesty, he paid in advance, and paid relatively well. There was no reason for any of them to chafe in his employ. Besides, the weather was uniformly wretched. No one cared to go outside."

"Did he bring you with him from France?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Were you consulted in the hiring process?"

"Not at all, Your Majesty."

She considered the row of prisoners for a few moments, then sighed and said, "Kai, would you see to it that these men are housed in the visiting servants' quarters?"

"Yes, Mum."

"And have a late lunch sent up for them as well. I doubt any of them has eaten since yesterday."

"Very good, Mum, it shall be done." Kai motioned to two of the Guards, who cut the men's bonds and led them away. Most of them stared back at Elsa in confusion as they left. Her keen ears picked it up when one muttered to a fellow, "That mean we ain't gonna be ice statues?"

She held up a hand.

The line stopped; some began trembling.

She motioned for them to come back, which they did, quite reluctantly. "Gentlemen, I realize that there are hundreds of tales about me circulating around Europa, and I've heard many of them. As with most such situations, you should realize they are all inaccurate, and usually to an astounding degree. I am not a witch. I am not a sorceress. I do not turn people to ice and decorate my garden with them. I do not eat babies nor drink blood. I do not consort with Satan … or Hela or Boreas or anyone else. I was born with the ability to create and manipulate ice and snow." She gestured, and five columns of flawless ice sprang from the floor. The men yelped and huddled close, watching in awe as delicate vines of blue and white formed, curling up and around each column in muted bursts of pure light. "My magic, as I was told long ago, carries great beauty. I enjoy creating works of art with it." A delicate unicorn of purest white appeared in a glittering shower. Beside it grew from the floor an intricately-patterned sphere of hollow ice. Festive scenes decorated its surface.

Elsa rose from her throne and made her stately way down to the men. She held her hands out, noting with no little exasperation how they shrank back. "I'm not going to hurt you. My goodness, why would you think I'd do so now, having discovered your innocence?"

They glanced at each other, relaxing slightly.

"Take my hands."

Eyes flicked from her face to her hands and back.

"Come on. Feel my skin. I'm human, just like you. Well, mostly."

Two of the men had begun reaching to touch her, but stopped. One whispered, "Mostly?"

"Yes. As it turns out, the reason that I have ice powers is that one of my ancestors was of the Fey."

Mouths dropped open. The same man stuttered, "The F-fair Folk?"

"Yes. Perhaps if I had known that as a child, things would have turned out differently."

Anna snorted and offered, "You can say that again."

Kristoff placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "Dear?"

She looked up at him, giggled, and settled her features into serene indifference … for about four seconds before another giggle erupted.

Elsa ignored her, and said to the men, "What I mean is that you have nothing to fear. And as long as you behave yourselves and don't break any laws, that will continue. Now, take my hands."

The first one to do so raised his brows and said, "You feel cool."

"Yes. My body temperature is lower than normal."

Another asked, "How do you make ice?"

She grinned. "Magic. Duh."

Anna hooted, "Now you sound like me!"

Kristoff said, "Sweetheart? We talked about this."

The rest of the men had a chance to hold hands with The Most Powerful Being on Earth. It was something they would tell to their eventual children (often enough that said children would get tired of hearing the story).

Once the men were gone, the ice fabrications banished, and Elsa back on her throne, she fixed her gaze on Cardin. For nearly a minute she stared at him while he stared at the floor. Finally she asked, "Where is Maria Cristina?"

He jerked up to gape at her … but soon crumpled. "You knew. Of _course_ you knew."

"We knew a great deal. The reason we allowed you to continue your charade was to find out who was working the strings of the marionettes." She regarded him coldly for a moment, then asked, "Why in God's Name would you think you could get away with _kidnapping_ my _sister?"_

He stayed quiet.

"You wanted to use her to secure my aid in some sort of conquest, so you _must_ have known at least a _little_ about the reach of my magic. How could you believe escape was even a possibility?"

He sighed. Looked up at her. Dropped his gaze again and murmured, "It was working."

"What was that?"

"It was working. That is, it _looked_ like it was working. You … the way you reacted … to Maria's intrigues. She had said you were an unschooled little rustic."

Elsa smirked. "Did she now."

"She had every confidence that you had fallen for her act."

"In no respect. We knew she was lying, but didn't know why, so we played along to find out. I must say, though, your ploy with Hilde was well-planned. I have since had several conversations with my sister …" She looked over at Anna and smiled. "She has the heart of a lion, but could stand to develop a modicum of judgment."

Anna, unfazed, grinned and said, "Working on it."

Turning her focus back to Cardin, Elsa frowned darkly and said, "But that doesn't answer my question. _Where_ is that lying, scheming wretch of a termagant?"

He stared back, smirking. "And I would know this, how, exactly?"

With a tight swirling motion, Elsa brought into existence a huge armored knight of ice. The golem picked up Cardin by one leg and held him upside down. He yelled several times until an icy gag formed over his mouth.

Elsa stood and slowly walked down to where he hung, struggling. She grabbed his hair and pulled him up until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Mssr. Cardin, I am out of all charity with you. You can answer my questions as a whole man, or as a man missing various body parts. You need neither your arms nor your legs to speak." The gag vanished. "Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes! Yes! Put me down! I'll tell y- _umph!"_ Hitting the floor cut off the rest of his sentence.

A tight ring of needle-sharp stalagmites grew from the floor, in toward Cardin, restricting his movement.

Elsa regarded him mutely for a bit, then said, "Tell me everything you know about Maria Cristina, and I will see to it that your execution is as quick and painless as possible."

"Exe … cution?"

"Yes."

"… But …"

"You orchestrated the kidnapping of the Princess of Arendelle. I watched as you murdered a man in cold blood. Either of those carries a death sentence. Thought you to receive mercy?"

"… Well …"

"I didn't _make_ the laws, Cardin, but I am bound by my oath to see them carried out."

He slumped, defeated.

"Now. I can see to it that your final days are relatively comfortable, or you can spend them in various levels of agony. Your choice." She lifted his head up and stared into his eyes. "Spill your guts about that execrable ex-Regent, or I'll spill them for you. Once that topic is exhausted, we can have an intimate chat about Minister Thiers."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _6:15pm_

After draining her glass of wine and setting it back on the table, Elsa said, "As cloudy as it is, I think I'll wait until tomorrow to send my birds to Paris."

Anna asked, "How do you know it's not going to be cloudy tomorrow."

Elsa gave her a sly smile.

"Ah. Right."

"Also, I'm sure she could not have made it back to her apartments by then anyway."

"Impossible," agreed Carlos. "It's over a hundred and fifty leagues from Farsund to Paris. That's at least a three-day sail, and more probably four, to Le Havre, and then another two-day trip overland, if she hurries. She won't be able to warn Thiers before we can get to him."

Elsa treated them to an un-Queenly sort of snort; looked a bit shocked at herself; composed her features, and then said, "If she's even mindful that way. She doesn't strike me as the sort of person to care about the outcomes of her actions. I think she'd toss him to the wolves in a second."

Kristoff had been in a state of agitation ever since learning the details of the conspiracy, and was especially exercised about Minister Thiers. "I still don't think you should leave him alive."

"Sweetie …" said Anna, laying a hand on his arm

"No! Didn't … wasn't it …" He caught Elsa's eye. "Wasn't it Morana who told you it was bad policy to leave enemies alive behind you?"

"Morana told me a lot of things. Please recall that the Fey have ways of behaving and planning that are exceedingly different from human standards. She also made a habit of killing her mortal lovers, which is another activity I don't plan to emulate."

Carlos deadpanned, "And you've no idea how much I do appreciate your consideration."

"Besides," continued Anna, "it will be more effective this way. Better a live example than a dead martyr. And he's got an _awful_ lot of power in the French government."

Elsa nodded. "True. Killing him might engender a war, and that is the _last_ thing I wish to do. Leaving him alive, but disgraced, will have a better outcome, I'm sure."

Anna asked, "Have you started on the proclamations yet?"

"I have an outline. I want to work with a few of my Councilors to get the details just right."

"Good plan."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle, East Dining Room, Wednesday 08 December, 1841, 1:00pm_

The door opened and a page stepped in. "Princess Anna of Arendelle and the Countess Sofia Ventura de Tejada y Fernandez."

The two young women glided in (well … okay, 'bounced in' would be closer to the truth) and came over to the table where Elsa and Carlos already sat. Anna bent and dropped a kiss on her sister's hair. "Hi, Elsa! Hi, Carlos!"

"Hello, yourself." She glanced between the two, noting identical happy smiles, and observed, "You're in a mood." Taking in how they were dressed, she asked, "Have you been riding?"

"Yes! It was so nice today …"

"Meaning," inserted Sofia, "that it was slightly above freezing, and not raining."

"Exactly! So I figured it would be a sin not to take advantage of it, so we went to the stables and had Nebula and Gracelle saddled up, and took a ride up toward the Nissefosse."

"My goodness. That's, what an hour and a half?"

"About that, if you're in a carriage. We made it in under an hour."

Sofia said, "The waterfalls were magnificent! It was well worth the effort. And riding with Anna is … um …"

"Stimulating?" suggested Elsa.

"Dangerous?" said Carlos, smiling.

"Um … different. Your horses have been taught to rack, so the ride was ever so smooth. Until Anna would break into a gallop. Gracie seemed to take it as a challenge, so I let her have her head. Quite exhilarating."

"Exhilarating, yeah. You won the race." Anna gave her a quick hug and kissed her cheek. "You're a wonderful rider. Thanks for going with me."

"I assure you, the pleasure was all mine. We don't have such evergreen forests around Madrid. They truly are beautiful."

At that point another set of doors opened, and three women came in with a rolling cart, laden with food. They saw Anna and Sofia, and slowed down, looking between them and Elsa. The oldest said, "I understood it was only the two of you, Your Majesty."

"They were unexpected." Addressing Sofia, she asked, "Would you care to join us for lunch? Or have you eaten?"

"We have not." Giving Anna the eye, she added, "The Princess said we-"

Anna grinned, stomped a foot, and said, "Anna!"

"A thousand pardons. _**Anna**_ said we might try getting something to eat from the hawkers in the market. Something about mutton pies."

Elsa nodded thoughtfully. "If you'd rather do that, it's perfectly all right."

Anna zipped over to the cart and said, "What's on the menu?"

"We have venison roast, squash soup, poached apples, and sugar-cinnamon soft rolls with ice cream."

"Hot damn!"

"Anna!"

"Sorry, Elsa." She ran back to Sofia and took her hands. "Can we eat with them? Do you mind? They had me at 'roast'."

Giving a tinkling laugh, Sofia squeezed Anna's fingers and said, "Sure. Whatever makes you happy."

"Oh, lots of things make me happy." Casting a glance Elsa's way, she smiled broadly. "Anymore."

 _I can see that_ , thought Sofia. "Is there enough?"

The older servant waved off the question. "Pish and tosh. Easy enough to bring up more."

Elsa patted the seat beside her. "Here. Right here. And tell me all about your ride."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Paris, Friday 10 December, 1841, 10:00pm_

The fog came in slowly. Naturally, almost. It certainly wasn't unheard-of at this late time of year, and aside from a little grumbling, no one gave the fog a second thought, especially here on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, so close to the Seine. Even when visibility shortened to twenty paces or less, no one commented on it, only hurrying on to their destinations and turning up their collars against the gelid damp. "At least it isn't raining," was a common sentiment.

Hanging in the darkness high above their target, shrouded in black, Carlos and Elsa waited until the concealing mist covered all. Then they slowly dropped down to the balcony of the room they wanted.

Elsa's icy spies had pinpointed Thiers's house the day before. She was a little surprised by its modest size, but Carlos reminded her that the Minister claimed to support the idea of a Republic, so it would not do for him to be too ostentatious. Still, his chambers were tastefully and expensively appointed.

The lock on the double-doors succumbed to Elsa's ice with a muted ping. Floating in, not allowing their feet to touch the floor, they made not a whisper of sound as they approached the sleeping Minister. Elsa studied his bed and how it was made up, and quickly formed dozens of spots of ice around the edges of sheet and comforter. At her command, they rose, met overhead, and twisted together tightly.

Wrapped him up like an onion.

Thiers came awake slowly under the best of circumstances, and these hardly qualified. He thought, when he could attempt to think, that he was in the middle of a nightmare, and tried to wake himself to escape. After most of a minute, he finally realized this was no nightmare. Someone had trapped him, and was carrying him away. He struggled to sit up and called, "Who is out there?"

No answer.

"If you are planning to exact a ransom for me, I doubt I'd command much."

Silence.

His fabric prison seemed to be hung from something overhead, and was swinging in slow, short arcs. Did they have him suspended from a pole? "Dare I ask why I've been taken?"

A man's voice said, in slightly accented French, "You'll soon know."

Thinking that was likely the best answer he would get, Thiers kept his peace. Hardly more than a minute passed before he hit the ground with a thump. Groaning a little, he said, "I know the King despises me, but I didn't think he'd stoop this low."

His bedclothes un-twisted and snapped out flat, leaving him only his nightcoat and hat against the elements. He shivered and took stock of his surroundings.

Forest. Dark, dark forest, little illuminated by the waning crescent moon.

"Where am I?"

"You are on a small island in the middle of the River Oise."

Whirling, Thiers took in his captors, tall and short, and demanded, "Why did … wait. The Oise? That isn't possible."

The man spoke again. "Oh, to be sure, tonight we will be exploring the limits of what you consider possible."

Even in the dim light, he could see they were dressed all in black, which gave him a chill worse than the slow December breeze. "Assassins!"

The shorter one stepped forward, said, "Hardly," and removed his – _her!_ – scarves. Lush blonde hair spilled out.

His confusion ramped up. "… A girl?"

"A Queen."

The situation gelled for him and he took a step back. "The Ice … ah … Queen Elsa."

"Go on. I believe you were about to refer to me as the Ice Witch, yes? Is that the story you've been spreading?"

"Um, uh, not … not _my_ story. **_A_** story, not my story."

She stepped forward; he retreated; she flicked a finger; hard, cold manacles encircled his wrists. He was pulled upward, only maintaining contact with the ground by standing on tip-toe. He screamed. Screamed again.

She smiled at him grimly. "Yell to your heart's content. I've warded this island for silence."

He stared at her dumbly.

"Adolphe Thiers, you have made an exceedingly, a _resoundingly_ poor decision. You thought to put me in a vice; to coerce my magic to your bidding. I am here to drive home the point that poor decisions can have highly unpleasant consequences. Nature does not suffer fools to escape unscathed, and neither do I."

"What? What? I never-"

Ice covered his face.

"Lying about your involvement will only provoke me. And, trust me, you don't want me any more provoked than I already am."

The gag vanished. Cold sweat ran down Thiers's back.

"You ordered the capture of Arendelle's Princess as a means of placing me at your beck and call. The capture succeeded, briefly, but was soon rectified. Your chief instrument in the debacle, Louis Cardin, is in my dungeon now, awaiting execution."

The icy manacles moved apart and down until Thiers looked like he was on a cross. From this perspective, he could turn his head far enough to see that the manacles were not, in fact, manacles, but were the hands of a huge golem of ice. He screamed again.

"Pay attention." She turned his face back toward hers. "There was some discussion as to whether you should join him. However, we opted for a different sort of punishment for you."

"You … aren't going to … kill me?"

"Would you rather I did?"

"Ah … no?"

"You don't sound certain. Good. That means you have a bit of sense." She moved up until their faces were separated by less than a span. "Because you might change your mind later." She began weaving motions with her hands, and sparkling ice-motes followed. For several breaths, her fingers continued their dance, and all the while it seemed as if a pressure was building up in the politician's gut. She ended with a flinging motion that left him momentarily breathless.

Gently, after a quarter-minute, Elsa took the Minister's terrified face in her two hands. His trembling telegraphed plainly through her fingertips. She had yet to look away or blink, and that penetrating cerulean gaze scared him worse than anything else she'd done so far.

"Your conspiracy was doomed from the start. That, however, does not relieve you of any culpability. Your agents, at your direction, kidnapped my sister." She leaned toward him, almost touching foreheads, and an aura of cold advanced with her. The sweat on his face froze and fell to the forest floor with a light _tacketing_ sound. "My … _sister_." She moved her hands to each side of his head. The cold intensified. "You took my flesh and blood. The Hero of Arendelle. The one person who saved all of Europa from my Eternal Winter. Don't think the cold would have simply gone away once I was dead. Oh, no. Without my controlling influence, even as pale and unsteady as it was at the time, the ice would have spread to cover the land. In time, it may have covered the Earth. She quite literally saved your life."

He gasped. Never had he felt such cold! It bit his skull like a driven nail. Drawing another, deeper breath, he prepared himself to scream, but then the cold faded, leaving only an aching numbness behind.

Elsa stepped away. Carlos took her place. "I wanted to end your miserable, conniving, useless life. The Queen talked me out of it, for reasons she deemed sound, though I'm not completely convinced. However, she came up with an alternative that I feel will suit your crime."

Thiers wasn't giving his full attention to the Spaniard. His head hurt too much. Gnomes of frozen steel dug through skin and bone, coming to rest in his brain-pan, setting up a regular hammering that pushed spikes of agony through his teeth.

Carlos reached up and grabbed an ear in each hand, then pulled down and away sharply.

The Minister only _thought_ he'd been in pain before, and he gave a mighty shriek. He kept it up for nearly half a minute while his captors watched passively. At length, he panted, "What … what did you … do?"

For an answer, Carlos held up his hands, showing the ears he'd pulled off: hard, red, and rimed in frost.

Elsa stepped back up to him. "So there will be no mistaking what was done to you, I have had a proclamation written up detailing the wrongs you have committed, and my justice. Copies will be sent to the heads of every kingdom, nation, and city-state on the Continent. For tonight, you will hang there in your bonds. Tomorrow morning, the golem will vanish … and then you should see if you can get someone to ferry you off this island so you can find a physician to keep your head free of gangrene."

Carlos took up the account. "We have already sent a courier to your King. We are demanding that you be stripped of your position and exiled from France." He moved forward until Thiers could feel the heat radiating from him. "You will be followed and watched for the rest of your life; and, yes, we can do that. If you ever try anything like this again – against _anyone_ , not only Arendelle – we will know. And you will die."

Elsa stepped up beside her fiancé. "Your days of moving pawns around the political chess board are over. I don't care what you make of the rest of your life, but you are going to do it without power or influence or riches."

Their captive sobbed, "You're leaving me … here … to freeze!"

"No. You won't freeze. I placed a ward on you to prevent it." She smiled grimly. "You'll only _feel_ as if you are freezing. But you won't die." With a low chuckle, she added, "I won't _let_ you die."

Thiers caught his breath, a few tears squeezing between his shaking eyelids, and fought to hold in his suffering. He would not give them the satisfaction. He would not …

He fainted.

The two Fey-touched glanced at each other. She shrugged her shoulders. He nodded and pointed up. She took his hand.

Five hours later they were back in Arendelle.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Paris, Sunday 12 December, 1841, 10:25am_

"But, Mistress, I don't understand."

"Ah, Fleurette," replied Maria Cristina, patting her cheek, "you may say that about a great many things."

The girl nearly bit her lip in holding back a rejoinder. Presently, she took a deep breath and asked, "Why do you not wish to go to your apartments? Why only me? And why the disguises?"

"She found us in Farsund. Think you she can't find us here?"

"'She?' Who … oh! You mean the Snow Queen?" Maria Cristina had mentioned her a few times on the way here.

"Too right. I intend to move to a different country, and waste no time. But she'll have spies. Spies everywhere. Magical spies. We must exercise the greatest caution."

Fleurette considered. She did have a point. Although she had not the _vaguest notion_ as to why the Snow Queen would have taken their house. If, indeed, she had; Queen Elsa had never been anything but gracious to them during their stay in Arendelle. Her Mistress was convinced of it, though. It was all quite frustrating.

Sighing to herself, she plucked up her spirit (something she was quite good at) and set out for their apartments. _Pack up the traveling clothes, pack up the small trunks, and have everything delivered to Saint-Denis. Right. Sure. Crazy, but okay. Whatever._

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note: Refer again, please to the Eleventh Commandment. We shall see whether or not other nations (and individuals) can take the hint. Thiers's story is going to be widely circulated, so they won't have the excuse of ignorance._**

 ** _Reviews = Love!_**


	11. December

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

" _ **Peace is that brief glorious moment in history when everybody stands around reloading**_ _ **."**_

 _ **This quote has from time to time been attributed to Thomas Jefferson, but it's not his. It's a modern thing … though no less true for all that.**_

 _ **Still, a little peace is a good thing, don't you think? Even if Elsa and company don't get it often. Even if it is about to be splattered all over the landscape. We can rejoice with them in this small interlude.**_

 _ **Shall we?**_

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: December**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Stooping Hawk – Wednesday 15 December 1841, 2:00pm_

"Are you packed yet?"

Sofia looked up from where she sat on the loveseat before the fireplace in the common area, blinking at Eduardo. "Packed? Oh, I'm sure. Maria was overseeing that, so you know it's been organized to the final scrap of ribbon."

He laughed softly, raising a hand to cover his cough. (He was recuperating from a slight cold.) "Too true." Another cough. He cleared his throat loudly. "Sorry. She's a likely one, that girl."

"Yes. Quite." And she turned her gaze back to the fire.

"We are to take supper in our new embassy."

"I know."

"All right. Just making sure. I didn't want you to get lost between here and there."

"I doubt we'll have any trouble. It's only three streets away."

"So we'll see you there?"

She faced him fully. "Eduardo. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"You look like you have a lot on your mind."

"I do. Much to consider, much to process." Then the fire got the benefit of her concentration again.

Eduardo judged her to be finished with the conversation, made his farewell, and left.

Although she was looking in the direction of the flames, that wasn't what she was seeing. Her worldview had recently been turned on its head, and she was determined to work through the causes and effects.

Technically, Sofia Frederica Victoria Ventura de Tejada y Fernández, being the daughter of a Duke, would be listed as a Countess. But with the Spanish Court lately being in such disarray, her title was mostly ceremonial. That hadn't stopped her from doing everything she could to consolidate her position. With Espartero and the Liberals in power, there was no 'sure thing' anymore. She wanted to be as sure as possible that there would be a title left to inherit when her father reached his sixtieth birthday … if he did. The consumption might kill him first.

Making sure that 'she got hers' had been her objective when the Spanish diplomatic delegation first arrived in Arendelle the previous month, when Autumn was finding its feet. Tomás had chosen her for her cunning, her keen mind, and her ability to get people to open up to her and divulge important secrets. Her assignment was to worm her way into the Queen's good graces, gain her confidence, and begin to sway her in her decision-making.

That, however, had not happened. At all. Instead, Sofia found herself drawn to the royal sisters in ways she'd not felt before; ways she'd not thought possible. It had taken only three weeks for her to completely reevaluate her plans. It took another to summon up the courage to admit that to Tomás, but by then (due primarily to Carlos's influence) he was of a similar opinion himself. Over the past week, they and the Santos brothers had begun to hold short, private meetings to discuss how Spain might be able to aid Arendelle in the political maelstrom they had known was brewing across the Continent. They'd not yet taken Diego or Gerardo into their confidence. The two men, who'd not previously been close to the other four and were, frankly, included in the group for rather more dubious reasons, had other objectives. Sofia feared it might put them into conflict, but hadn't yet voiced those fears.

Her plans had begun raveling as soon as she got to know the Princess. Sofia observed that Anna had a spontaneity, a generous spirit and a true love of life that she had never before encountered. While possessing a keen intelligence and a wicked sense of humor, the girl didn't have a deceitful or conniving bone in her body, and the novelty of that fact had been deliciously addictive.

Artless and delightful, the strawberry blonde had immediately included Sofia in all her regular activities, pleased beyond words to have a new face in the palace … especially such a pretty one. Sofia was, indeed, a legendary beauty in the Court at Madrid. Some of the nobles compared her favorably with an ancestor of hers (Joan of Navarre) given her perfectly regular, perfectly balanced features. Enormous almond-shaped eyes, and long, cascading waves of silky hair, both the color of rich chocolate, were set off by her clear, pale skin, and her high cheeks carried a slight rosy blush that gave her an overtly shy (and totally misleading) appearance. Anna insisted that they spend some time every two or three days experimenting with makeup. Sofia had picked up several tips that she passed on to her maid, Maria.

Elsa was a harder nut to crack. The Queen of Arendelle, against all reason, had seemed to set the benefit of her subjects (correction: citizens) above her own. To the Spanish peer, it made no sense whatsoever. That simply wasn't how royals behaved. Sofia thought that she _must_ have some ulterior motive. It was not conceivable to the young Countess that one born royal could feel that way about commoners. And yet … story after story, instance after instance, and in the witness of her own eyes, Elsa proved her wrong.

For one stellar example, Sofia had learned the Queen's magic extended quite a bit further than the simple creation of ice. A week earlier, she'd been given the details of the most recent 'incident' involving that disgraced Prince from the Southern Isles. He had toyed with forces beyond his comprehension, and had paid the ultimate price. But in the heat of the conflict, Elsa had discovered (or developed) an array of phenomenal healing powers.

The Queen could heal anyone, including herself, of even the most grievous wounds, a true trump card in the business of running a kingdom, assassinations being pretty much _de rigueur_ for one of her position. She had healed her fiancé after he took a crossbow bolt to the lung, and her sister's husband after he'd been all but gutted. And yet, she didn't use it as a bargaining chip. She didn't even keep the knowledge to herself; quite the contrary.

She set up a system of emergency contact stations. Any time one of her subjects was injured (if the injury was severe enough) she would be notified, whereupon she would mount one of her incredible ice creations and speed to the rescue. This she did on a regular basis, taking time away from the important work of running Arendelle to nurse _peons_. She had done so only the day before, sprinting out of a Council meeting to race up into the hills and heal a wood-cutter who had sliced his foot in half. Sofia had it on good authority that Elsa had saved the lives of no fewer than seven Arendellians, and prevented the maiming of a double-handful more. All of them – _all_ of them – commoners.

It strained credulity. But it was, nevertheless, fact.

And they loved her … to distraction. The men and women of Arendelle were utterly captivated with their Queen, and weren't afraid to show it. Elsa regularly took walks through the market, frequently unaccompanied by any of the Guard, because she felt safe among her subj- um, citizens. No knife awaited her, no poisoned cup. She didn't even have an official food-taster.

And what Sofia found, after much meditation on the situation, was that she wanted it. The love, the respect, the familiarity … the _happiness_. Yes, they were truly happy. A kingdom of joy, and it was largely attributable to the royal sisters.

Somehow (and, again, she _hated_ to use that word) she was going to have to figure out how to transplant this joy into her own life. She was beginning to get glimmers of how that might be accomplished, but they were yet hazy; unformed.

Shaking her head ruefully, Sofia glanced at the clock, and startled, then looked outside at the gloom. If she didn't get a move on, she was going to miss dinner. Grabbing the rest of her furs, she bustled out, calling to her maid.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle Courtyard, Friday 17 December, 1841, noon_

The still air of anticipation held the crowd in its grasp. Even after many months of seeing this on a regular basis, the citizens of Arendelle got a thrill when Elsa wove her magic for them. The skating rink was a given most weekends, weather permitting, and around the middle of the previous Spring, she had begun adding the odd sculpture. Then a few weeks after that she also placed an artsy piece on the causeway. That grew to several. Later, during the hot months, many of the squares and crossroads in town received a new and different example of fanciful ice. And everyone loved it. They were proud of their Snow Queen. She loved them, and they knew it.

Today, though, was special, because today she was going to put up the Royal Christmas tree. The custom had migrated to northern Scandinavia from Germany via Denmark, and by 1820 was a well-established and cherished part of the celebration of Christmas in Arendelle. King Agdar had always had a tall conifer cut and the set up in the courtyard. It was one of pitifully few connections the royal family still had with the rest of Arendelle after Elsa injured Anna, and Agdar closed the gates. She would stand at his side as he made the proclamation to open the season. (Arendelle started the party a week earlier than Norway or Sweden. No one seemed to mind.)

The throng turned their heads as one when the tall doors opened, and Elsa stepped out to greet them. She made her stately way to the bottom of the courtyard staircase, then raised herself on a tall dais of ice so that everyone could see and hear.

Anna, standing in the open door beside Sofia, nudged her and said, "This is gonna be good."

Behind them, Carlos and Kristoff gave each other knowing nods. The Spaniard said, "I never get tired of seeing it. Doubt I ever will."

The Countess had witnessed Elsa make a few small things here and there, but always in relatively mundane applications (and once to repair Tomás's ankle when he sprained it on the staircase). This would be her first experience with a major creation, and keeping her excitement under wraps was a little difficult.

"My people," called Elsa, spreading her arms wide, "may the favor of our dear Lord be upon you this blessed Christmas season! I know many of you have begun the celebration in your hearts already. I know I have, as we have so much to be thankful for." She glanced over at her sister and gave her a bright smile. "But today it officially begins.

"You all know that my father, King Agdar …"

Most of the crowd intoned, "God rest his soul."

"… for many years brought in a large tree to commemorate our Savior's birth. I continued that tradition last year as well. But this year I thought, why sacrifice a tree when I have a perfectly good alternative?"

Many of those watching were grinning broadly. Enough of them whispered to each other that a low susurrus drifted across the assembly.

"As most of you saw last spring when we celebrated Anna's birthday, I've discovered how to add color to my ice when the occasion calls for it. And while blue is still my favorite, it isn't quite appropriate for a tree." She made a small gesture, and a hefty bole grew from the center of the courtyard. It quickly shot upward and outward, a sparkling mist outlining limbs and branches and twigs. It reached a height about even with the lower edge of the castle roof, then the mist vanished, revealing a sort of tree-skeleton. A broad movement of both arms covered the construction with a roiling, glowing fog, white shot through with green, which then vanished to reveal a towering spruce, thickly furred in dark green needles.

The crowd erupted in cheers, shortly turning into repeated chants of "Elsa! Elsa! Elsa!"

The Queen basked in the glow of her people's love for a long moment, then held up a hand. Gradually, they grew quiet, and then she said, "In the past, we have decorated the Christmas tree with bows and ribbons and holy symbols and small painted pieces to hang from the branches. I would like to continue that, but with a slight twist. This time, I would like to leave the decoration to the children of Arendelle."

There was a low buzz of confusion among those gathered, but they stopped when she said, "I will, of course help. Any child who has something to add, I will take up the tree myself so it may be placed wherever desired. We will do this several times over the next week until Christmas Eve. I am sure there will be enough space so that anyone may contribute who wants to." The chatter grew excited, and significantly louder; many children could be seen jumping or waving animatedly.

The warmth of Elsa's smile could cure frostbite. "So now, my people, I declare the holiday in effect. Until the twelfth day after Christmas, we will collect no taxes. Also, this week the treasury will pay for one beer a day for each citizen over the age of twenty at any tavern in the city."

That brought another long set of cheers. Elsa noticed several people with their heads together, and, knowing their intentions, she added, "Yes, I will be able to keep up with who has already had his daily beer. So," she said, wagging a finger and grinning, "no cheating."

She raised her arms high and intoned, "Merry Christmas to all! May God richly bless you!" Then she turned, created a slide between her dais and the top of the staircase, and slid down to join her family. The dais and the slide vanished in a whirl of sparkly motes.

Carlos pulled her into a deep embrace. Anna clapped her hands and yelled, "That was great! Awesome! You're the best Queen ever!"

Sofia … hadn't moved. Anna noticed and stepped up to her, reaching out and gently closing her mouth. That got the Countess's attention, for a moment. She looked from Anna to the tree to Anna to the tree to Elsa to Anna to the tree to Elsa to the tree …

"Yes, it is quite something, isn't it?" said Anna smugly.

"I … I … she …"

Anna patted her cheek. "You'll get used to it." She took Sofia's hand. "Come on. Let's get some lunch."

Sofia allowed herself to be dragged off, but kept looking back at the tree. _I don't_ want _to get used to it. I don't ever want to lose this feeling …_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Paris, 6:00pm_

Adolphe Thiers was in a sorry state as he swayed uncomfortably in the tempest of His Majesty's ire. The shouting was (mostly) done, but the worst was still to come.

"You're a madman. Barking, baying mad."

"Your Majesty, I-"

"She let you off easy. Were I in her place, the pieces of your corpse would be on display all over the kingdom."

Thiers hung his head.

"You're smarter than this. You are. I _know_ you are. You're the quintessential political animal. Easily better at it than I am. That's why you're my Minister of Foreign Affairs." He looked again at the elaborately illuminated parchment in his hand. "Or, were."

It had been a hellishly awful week for the now-ex-Foreign Minister. The island the Ice Witch had chosen for her little torture session was uninhabited. He had screamed himself mute trying to get someone's attention, but either the locals were deaf, or she truly had managed to cast a pall of silence over the place. At dawn the ice golem vanished, and he spent several minutes rubbing the feeling back into his hands. He was dead sure his wrists would be scarred for life … however long that turned out to be. Given Louis Philippe's current state of mind, it might not be all that long.

"So you did order the kidnapping of her sister Anna?"

Thiers nodded.

"A Royal? A Princess? The heir of the kingdom, unless Elsa produces issue? That Anna?"

Knowing that nothing he could say would help, Thiers held his tongue. The ache in his head that had never fully subsided made it hard for him to think, anyway. His normally active and devious mind was otherwise occupied with pain.

He'd finally managed to signal someone on shore about half an hour after sunrise, and then it was another hour before they got a boat to him. His condition (he claimed to be the victim of a kidnapping gone wrong) meant they shipped him to the nearest doctor as soon as possible. That physician questioned him at some length about how he'd lost his ears. They looked to have been pulled off, but … the doctor had his doubts. The area around them was severely frost-bitten, though nowhere else on his body was there any evidence of the same. And that, thought the doctor, was exceedingly strange. Thiers was quite vague with information about both his abductors and his stay on the island. How, the man wanted to know, did his wrists come to be so chafed? Thiers claimed they must have tied him too tightly. _But those aren't rope marks_ , protested the doctor. _Then I don't know_ , came the petulant reply.

It took two more days to get back to Paris. Since he'd been dropped on the island without any sort of identification, no one believed him when he claimed to be the Minister of Foreign Affairs. No shock there. He looked like an escaped convict, even after getting cleaned up. His butler gave him a long, confused stare before recognizing him.

And then, today, while he was yet convalescing, had come the summons from the King.

"I am still," went on the King, "trying to comprehend how you ever thought this was going to turn out well. Apparently, the rumors I'd heard of Queen Elsa's magic held more credence than I'd given them. I understand she has some sort of control over the elements. Did you know this?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Louis Philippe's incredulous stare pinned Thiers to the spot for a couple of breaths. "And yet you went through with the abduction?"

"We wanted to, ah, secure the Queen's aid against Austria."

"And, what, diplomatic channels were too slow for you?"

 _Shrug._

Two of the four guards present couldn't quite suppress their amusement. Thiers was not well-liked among the Administration.

"So now you have brought us to this pass. Queen Elsa is absolutely incensed over your behavior, and no one can blame her. Her language here is so vituperative, so incendiary, I'm rather surprised the parchment isn't bursting into flame. She wants you humiliated. You are to be an example, of sorts. She began the process by removing your ears, and now I am expected to finish the job …" He looked back at Elsa's proclamation. "… ah, yes. Unless, she says, I wish to entertain my guests while wearing furs year-round." Looking back up at Thiers, he shook his head. "You'll not recover from this one."

 _No shit._

"Very well, then. You are henceforth exiled from France. You have a week to get your affairs in order and get out of the country."

Thiers swallowed and cleared his throat. "Ah … Your Majesty?"

"Surely you are not going to request clemency."

"No, Your Majesty. But, ah, it seems that my, ah, liquid assets are, ah … missing."

The King cocked an eyebrow. A corner of his mouth quirked. "How's that again?"

"My, ah, accounts at the Exchequer are, ah … empty. And the safe in my house is gone."

"So. A victim of robbery as well. That's … rather poetic, all things considered."

Thiers pushed on doggedly. "I will not be able to get my belongings packed and moved if I can't hire anyone to do it. I have at present perhaps four hundred francs to my name. If Your Majesty could possibly advance me a loan until I get resettled …?"

"Ha! This northern Queen has some good people working for her. I should quite like to meet her." He shook his head. "If you want a loan, I suggest you get one from some of your political allies."

"I, ah … already tried. That's where most of the francs I have came from."

The King chuckled to himself for a minute. "Then perhaps you should sell off some of your less-wieldy items. That sideboard of ebony and Italian marble, perhaps. That should finance you for a while."

"But …"

"Guards, please see Mssr. Thiers out." Giving his old rival a hard gaze, he finished. "One week. If you are still in France on Christmas Eve, your estate will escheat to the Throne, and you'll spend Christmas Day in shackles in the hold of a ship headed to the West Indies." Louis Philippe spun on his heel and left.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Spanish Embassy in Arendelle – Friday 24 December 1841 3:00pm_

The men all stared at Sofia in various levels of disbelief. Emilio said, "I thought they were Lutheran."

"They are. And, yes, it's mostly a simple tradition for the royal family, but Elsa, at least, is serious about it."

"… Wait. If she's devout, why are they holding a Mass for us? I thought Lutherans hated Catholicism … or only tolerated it in some cases."

"There's a Catholic community here already, dunce."

"And don't forget," added Eduardo, "she's marrying a Catholic."

Tomás snorted. "Calling Carlos a Catholic is a bit of a stretch, wouldn't you say?"

"Still," insisted Sofia, "there _are_ Catholics living here. Have been for a long time."

"Well, yeah, okay," admitted Emilio, "but they're Irish."

"And a few Poles, and one French exile and three local families who converted."

Tomás raised a brow and said, "You've been a busy little bee, haven't you?"

She launched a volley of high-order Glare at him. "I'd say someone obviously needs to."

"Now, Tomás," said Eduardo with a chuckle, "you don't want to rouse her ire, do you?"

Gerardo nodded. "Bad idea, that."

Tomás grinned and countered, "Shut up."

Diego asked, "Are you sure they are serious about it? That this isn't some sort of test? Or maybe a trap?"

Giving her head an emphatic shake, Sofia said, "I'd be rocked to my core, were that the case. They simply aren't like that, especially Anna, and she's the one who invited us."

"And she had no ulterior motive?" asked Gerardo.

"Foreign to her nature. Anna is an open book. I'm not even sure she knows _how_ to lie."

"Unusual for a royal," stated Gerardo. "Nor does that apply to her sister. You should recall that the Queen managed to keep her powers a secret for thirteen years."

"And it almost killed her, and it _did_ kill Anna. No, Elsa's done with secrets."

"Still not sure I believe that actually happened."

Sofia blew a huff. "You are exasperating! If getting turned into an ice statue isn't death, I don't know what to call it."

"We've gotten a little off-topic," said Tomás. "Let's assume that the invitations are genuine. I'd still like to know why they want to do it."

"No idea. Northern hospitality, maybe? It would certainly be in character for them. All I know is that we've been invited to _Pavo Trufado de Navidad_ , and that Father Ostberg would be conducting _La Misa del Gallo_ at midnight."

"Maybe Carlos is behind it? He's got to be a little homesick by now."

"Maybe so. And if that's the case, all the better, wouldn't you say? I, for one, won't say no to a bit of roast turkey."

"Can they get the mushrooms?" Emilio wanted to know. "I'm extra-partial to mushroom stuffing."

Sofia favored him with half a grin. "And I'd know that, how, exactly?"

Tomás offered, "They did have mushrooms at the Princess's wedding feast. A couple of soufflés and a cold dish where they were mixed up with wheat berries and fruit. They were excellent."

"I have an idea," said Sofia. "Why don't we graciously accept their invitation and try to have a good time?"

That shut them up.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle Stables, Friday 24 December, 1841, 4:00pm_

Anna watched from a few stalls down as Kristoff arranged several objects on the ground in front of the larger tack room. When her curiosity finally got the better of her, she called, in a low voice, "Kristoff? What are you doing?"

He only startled for a second before calming when he realized who it was. "Hey, Sweetheart." He swept an arm out toward the floor. "I'm leaving the Jul offering for the nisse."

That brought him only a confused stare and the question, "What's a nisse?"

"… Seriously?"

"Yeah. But … the word does sound a little … familiar. Somehow."

"Guardians of the homestead. I figured for _sure_ that you and Elsa would know about them, being educated and all."

More confusion.

"Little guys in red caps? They look after the animals on farms. Sometimes help with the harvest? You know … um …" He snapped his fingers a few times. "Gnomes! Yeah, some call them gnomes."

"Oh. Um … I thought gnomes were just, you know, fairy tales."

He had a snicker at her expense. "Bet you thought that about trolls, too."

Her eyes widened. "You mean to tell me that all those things in the fairy tales … are all _true?"_

"Eh. Not all of them. Not as far as I know. But trolls and nisser and skin-changers and ogres and giants … well, maybe not giants. Not anymore. Pretty sure they got killed off. The stupid, evil ones, anyway."

"So out in the wild there are things besides wolves to worry about?" Her voice got a bit shrill.

"No, no, not around here. I don't think anyone's seen an ogre in Arendelle in … um, probably my lifetime."

"What's a skin-changer?"

"Some say it's an animal that can take on the appearance of a man. Or it's a man that can turn into an animal."

"Like a _werewolf?!"_

"Well, no. From what little I've heard, werewolves are out of control. Or evil. Or they like hunting humans. Some of that. But, no, skin-changers do it voluntarily. They can do it whenever they like."

"Oh. So, then … they aren't evil?"

"They're people, so some yes, some no. They can be awfully tricky, though."

"Huh." Her eyes drifted back to the items he'd placed in the stable, and she saw that he had spread out a large linen cloth to hold them. She wandered over and bent to look: a single tallow candle illuminated a bowl of milk, another of beer, a plate with dried figs and raisins, one with some dark, thinly-sliced meat, and another bowl of what appeared to be porridge with cream. That one had an almond stuck in it. "And the nisse will eat this?"

"Maybe, maybe not. He might not even be here anymore. But it's polite to make the offer, especially if you have plenty. That helps make sure they're of a mind to help you out in times of trouble."

"… Really?"

He crossed his left arm over his chest, rested his right one against it, and tapped his chin with his right fist. "You spent time in the stables growing up, didn't you?"

"Some. Off and on. Papa wanted me to be able to ride, so I was taught. But I was never out here by myself. Always with Papa or a teacher. Or Mama, once."

"I'm starting to see how certain issues came to be."

"Like what?"

"According to what I've been able to dig up, no one's left a Jul gift for the nisse in a decade and a half. There was an old farrier who used to, but when he died, no one continued the practice. Only about half of the stable hands even knew what I was talking about."

"Okay. So?"

"The farrier died in 1826."

"Again, so?"

"I did the math. Elsa was seven when he died. She was seven that Christmas. You were four."

"… And?"

"You're not making the connection."

" _What_ connection? Why are you being so … so cryptic?"

"Elsa was eight when you had the accident."

"Yyyyyyyes. What does that have to do … wait."

"You're starting to see it."

"Oh, come on! You don't actually think … a nisse wouldn't have been able to keep that from happening!"

"It never happened before. And insulted nisser are known to play practical jokes on the family. He might have, ah, encouraged her to trip. And he wouldn't have had any way to know how sad and terrible things would turn out from that prank."

"Kristoff … it was an accident, okay? Kai said it: accidents happen. We were kids. We were playing. Kids who are playing have accidents. That's all it was, and I am not gonna blame it on some poor little nisse."

"Fine. No sweat. Just one man's opinion."

"Good. Let's go back in. I'm cold."

"Were you following me?"

"Heck, no. I was here already. You stomped right by me when I was in Apollo's stall."

He grinned. "Apollo, the apple maniac?"

"All horses are apple maniacs, but yes."

"And you brought him one."

"As you pointed out, we have plenty. And I'm sure apples taste better than hay."

Putting his arm around her shoulders, he held her close and said, "You'd give him one if it was your last apple. I know you."

"Entirely beside the point."

It squeezed out a little yip when he swept her up in his arms. "Let's get you back inside. I can think of a few ways to get you warmed up."

She giggled and threw an arm around his neck.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Anna & Kristoff's rooms, Friday 24 December, 1841, 6:00pm_

A cheery, crackling fire served as a backdrop for the intimate family gathering, as they marked the season with yet another tradition: the exchange of gifts.

When it was Anna's turn, she handed her sister a thick, hard-bound tome. Elsa ran her hand over the book's cover. "My word, Anna! This is beautiful." It was of richly tanned leather, and buttery-soft. A cameo portrait of a lovely, dark-eyed blonde girl in a white, shirred smock graced the front. Noticing the title, Зинаида, Elsa frowned and said, "Zinaida? What is this about?"

Eyes sparkling, Anna bounced on her chair. "That's her name. It's a semi-historical novel about a heroine. She lived around two centuries ago, and had this lover in the Russian army, and he was a Captain and he was defending the fortress at Belgorod, and she got taken as a slave in a Tatar raid, and her officer had to-"

"Anna!" Elsa held up a hand. "If you want me to read it, don't spoil it for me!"

"Oops." She put three fingers over her lips. "Sorry. Might have gotten carried away there." Her smile was back instantly. "But it's a great story! You'll love it!"

"Thank you. This was thoughtful." She placed it on the side table next to Kristoff's small image. He'd shown a rather deft hand at woodcarving, and had made small tokens for the other three.

Anna turned to Carlos and held out a box.

"What have we here?" He gave it a heft. "It's got some weight."

"I know a good way to find out."

He removed the lid, then stared, nonplussed, at the contents: a double-dozen small, black spheres. "… Okay?"

"Pick one up."

He did … and the rest came with it in a chain. "By the Saints! They stick to each other!"

"They're made of a semiprecious stone called hematite. They're magnetic. I ordered this set from Germany."

His grin growing, Carlos grabbed the other end of the ball chain, holding it up like a smile. "I love it!"

"Something to while away a few hours while Elsa's in meetings and has to concentrate. If you two can't yack to each other with telepathy, this might keep you occupied."

"Thank you, Anna, this is wonderful! I had a bit of lodestone as a child, and always loved playing with it." He put the hematite back in its box, and then pulled out one of his own. Opening it revealed three short wands of hammered copper. He gave one to each.

Anna looked at hers carefully. It was about a span long and fit comfortably in her hand. One end was rounded, almost hemispherical, and the other was squared off and filled with a shiny, black substance. There were three small studs of what looked like steel near that end. "Okay, I'll bite. What is it?"

"Hold it like you'd grip a sword, with your thumb near the studs."

They did.

"Now press the center stud."

All three gasped as soft streams of white-golden radiance lit the room.

Carlos sported a huge grin. "I call them carry-lights."

Anna's eyes were huge. "Wow." She waved hers around, pointing it at various objects. "This is _way_ better than a dark-lantern! And it's so light!"

Kristoff asked, "Are they … safe?"

"In this mode, yes. Well, I wouldn't stare into the light very long. You'd be seeing purple spots. But the other two studs change things, and you need to be careful with them." He pointed to the left stud. "This one varies the intensity. I've got them all set so that when you light them, they are on the lowest level of brightness. There are three more brighter than this, then it resets to the first level on the next push."

Unsurprisingly, Anna started pressing the stud. The next level was about twice as bright. The one after that was twice as bright again, and shone over a wide area rather than the tight beam of the first two. At the third press, she, Kristoff, and Elsa yelped and covered their eyes. She hit it again, and the soft light was back.

" _Wow,_ that's bright!" exclaimed Kristoff. "Why in the world … wait. That's for signaling, isn't it? Over long distances."

"Exactly."

"What's the other stud do?" asked Anna.

"Now that one can be dangerous, so listen closely."

They gave him their complete attention.

 _[[ How did you manage to hide this from me? ]]_

 _ **[[ By being the sneakiest man in the kingdom. ]]**_

 _[[ You know I'll need a better answer than that. ]]_

 _ **[[ Hush and listen. ]]**_

 _[[ Humph. ]]_

"It takes a specific sequence to activate it. Start with them off." They pressed the center stud again, and the tubes went dark.

"Now, it's important to keep your hands away from the end when using it this way, all right? Don't want to have to use the healing aura to replace missing fingers."

They all gave him dubious looks.

"This is a tool. It can also be used as a weapon under certain circumstances, and you can hurt yourself with it if you aren't careful. So, don't toy with it. It isn't a plaything."

Three heads nodded.

"Right. Here's what you do. And listen through the whole explanation first."

More nodding.

"You'll press the right stud and release it four times. Then, press the center stud four times. Then hold the center stud down and give the right stud four quick presses. Then release the center stud, and press the right one and hold it down. Got it?"

They repeated the instructions back to him. Elsa asked, "Why such intricate moves?"

"So you don't turn it on by accident. You wouldn't want that. Now," He slapped his knees. "We'll start with Anna."

"Why Anna?" asked Kristoff, suspiciously.

"Because she's the least patient. By a wide margin." Addressing the redhead, he said, "Point it away from you and go through the sequence."

She did … and the shiny, black material floated from the end of the tube, followed by a miniscule, glowing white thread. It extended half an ell and stopped. "Okay …" She sounded uncertain. "What is it?"

"That is a tiny version of my volcano-maker."

Three heads whipped around to stare at him. Elsa cried, "In the _castle?!"_

"I did say 'tiny'. What it is, in practical terms, is a knife that will cut anything." He shrugged. "Anything I could find to try it on, at any rate. But, yeah, wood, rock, metal. Whatever." He pointed at Anna's tube. "Lift your thumb."

She did, and the black circle snapped back into the tube. She stared at it for a moment, then put it on the table. "Um. Thank you."

"I hope you never find yourselves in a situation where you would need it, but … eh. Better safe than sorry."

"Did you only make three?" asked Kristoff.

"Yes. I didn't want anyone but you to have them."

"So you don't have one?"

He smiled and held up a finger. The glowing white thread extended from the tip. "How do you think I figured out how to do it? Hanging around Elsa has helped me in a lot of ways."

 _[[ We are going to talk later, sir! ]]_

 _ **[[ Sure. Anything for you, Dear. ]]**_

"I can see now," said Anna, "Why you wouldn't want that to turn on by accident."

"Yup."

"But the lights are nice. And really useful!"

"I'm glad you like them."

"Well," said Elsa, slightly deflated, "that certainly out-shines my gifts."

They all groaned.

Anna and Kristoff and Carlos had expected Elsa to craft something of ice for each of them, but that isn't what happened. Instead, she lifted a small bell and gave it a quick ring. The door opened, and Odelina pushed in a wheeled cart, the top covered by a linen cloth. She gave Elsa a quick bow, and scooted out, closing the door.

Anna sat forward. "What's all this then?"

"My presents for you." She pulled off the cloth, unveiling two brace of small, porcelain bowls. They held a smooth, dark brown substance.

Anna caught a whiff of chocolate and beamed. "Wow! Is that pot-de-crème?"

"Yes, it is."

"Cool! Odelina makes the best!"

"Actually … I made it."

They stared at her blankly.

 _ **[[ And when did YOU**_ _ **find the time to learn to cook? ]]**_

 _[[ Oh, hush. ]]_

"It took some time and effort," she explained, "to learn how to make pot-de-crème. I spoiled a lot of batches. But practice improves results, and I finally got it." She nibbled her lip. "I wanted to do something that … that took some work. Instead of simply creating anything _ex nihilo_. Something that … _meant_ something. That I could do for you like a normal person."

Carlos took her face in his hands. "You do realize that you're perfect as you are, don't you?"

She sniffed, and covered his hands with hers. He used his thumbs to wipe the glistening lines off her lower lashes.

Anna, delicately ignoring that byplay, reached for her bowl, and copped a spoon. One quick bite later, she sank into the chair's cushion, her eyes drifting closed. "Dear Lord. Oh, Elsa. You've … this is … this stuff is better than Odelina's!"

She pulled away from Carlos and sat up straight. "Thank you. That's what she said, too."

The four bowls were quickly emptied to sounds of extreme satisfaction.

Furtively, Anna licked off the edges of the bowl. "You know, Elsa, you can do that again any time you like. I won't mind a bit."

"Hear-hear!" agreed Carlos.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Seeing you all so happy is a gift unto itself."

Carlos glanced at the mantel clock. "Did you want to walk with Sofia to the _Pavo Trufado de Navidad?"_

"Oh! Yes, I did. We'd better get going." Turning to Anna, she said, "You still don't want to go? There will be roast turkey."

"No, you go on." She shot Kristoff a look. "We're fine. We have other plans."

Coloring slightly, Elsa answered, "Very well, then. We'll be off." And they left the happy couple to their own devices.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle's southern border, Thursday 30 December, 1841, 11:00am_

The main trade road south out of Arendelle meandered through hilly country and on into Norway, turning east and making its way through Seljord and eventually to Akkerhaugen, where goods could be shipped across the inner sea. But there were other roads, and this was one of them.

Three men stopped, laying their heavy packs down, and consulting a map. After a minute, they looked at each other and nodded. No words were spoken. They didn't need any.

Two of them sat down and rested while the other took his pack and strode off to the north. Half an hour later, the second left. Half an hour after that, the final man took to the road. They would all eventually end up in Arendelle City, but it was important that they not be connected with each other. That might foul up their plans. And they couldn't have that.

. . .

. . .

. . .


	12. January

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Thus begins the main story arc. A few things are set in motion here that will be important later.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven: January**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Spanish Embassy in Arendelle – Sunday 9 January 1842_

"Maria?"

A swarthy, black-eyed young lady of eighteen looked up from the novel in her hand, jumped to her feet, and curtseyed. "Doña!"

"Gently, Maria, gently. I only wanted to thank you for the fire in my room."

Maria blinked a couple of times, trying to come up with a reasonable response to that. Sofia's approach to her maid had undergone something of a sea-change over the last month or so. The girl wasn't _positive_ that it came from association with the royals of Arendelle, but she had strong suspicions. It was all to the good, to her way of thinking. "You're welcome, Doña, as always. It's my joy to serve you."

Sofia gazed at her for a moment, then came the rest of the way into the room, gliding over to Maria. She laid a hand against the dark cheek and offered a sliver of a smile. "Do me a favor?"

"Anything, my Lady!"

"Call me Sofia?"

Few requests could have shocked Maria more. From an early age, it was drummed into those who waited on the Spanish nobility that familiarity with their employers (some would say 'owners') was forbidden. A hand-maiden who 'forgot her place' could face severe punishments. Maria had witnessed such herself, when the Countess's father, a stern and unyielding man, handed out fines or lashings or imprisonment or even banishment. She swallowed. Swallowed again. "Doña … I don't … feel that would be proper. For me."

"Maria." Sofia placed her hands on the smaller girl's shoulders. "Maria, how long have we known one another?"

"Um … six …" She had to swallow a third time, as her throat was unaccountably dry. "For six years."

"And do you know me fairly well?"

"I would say so, Doña, yes. Quite well."

"When would you say was the last time you heard of me doing something truly crazy or illogical?"

"I … ah …" Maria racked her brain. "I … can't think of one, Doña."

"Indeed. Exactly. So, do you imagine I would start now?"

"… No?"

Sofia tittered a small laugh at the question in Maria's voice. "Just so. Therefore, if I ask for you to call me Sofia, do you think it is because I have lost my mind?"

"No, Doña!"

"Sofia."

"I … ah …"

"Sofia. It's three syllables. Say it with me. So-fi-a."

"… So- … um, Sof- …" How could her tongue be so _dry?_ "Sofia."

"Good. You are Maria and I am Sofia, and we are the best of friends. Yes?"

"I … uh … I don't." She cleared her throat. Twice. Again. "I would be … incredibly honored. Unbelievably honored." Those dark eyes widened even more. "But, Doña, when-"

"Sofia."

"Sof-sofia. When we return to Madrid. This will be … I, um, think your father, the Duke … will not … um …"

Sofia patted her cheek gently. "Leave him to me." She stepped in and placed a soft kiss on Maria's forehead, felt the girl trembling. "There are new things in this world. Many new ideas, new ways of … being a decent human being. I have learned much since we arrived here. I would share it. And I can think of no one who deserves to experience these ideas more than you do. I cannot imagine, had I been blessed with a sister, that she would be dearer to me than you are."

"Doña! Surely … I can't …" Of course Maria held her mistress in the highest regard. She had always treated her well, and the girl lit a candle in her honor every week after Mass. But … but to be called friend? To have the daughter of a powerful Duke _befriend_ her? She was not slow-witted by any means, but this beggared her imagination. Her hands went to her throat. "Doña, how-"

"Sofia!"

"Um … yes. Sofia. What has happened? This … breaks with tradition rather … abruptly. I think?"

"It does. But does _being_ a tradition mean that a custom is always right?"

Maria couldn't come up with anything cogent. "I never considered that before."

"Neither had I. But lately …" She paused, glanced up over the younger girl's head for a second, nodded to herself. "You know in our Holy Scripture where our Lord cured a blind man, and it was as if scales fell from his eyes?"

"Oh, yes! I love that story."

"I feel much the same way."

"… I'm sorry? You were not blind."

"Metaphorically speaking, I was. There were concepts I'd never entertained simply because custom led me to ignore them. I have come to understand that such mental blindness is a poor way to run one's life."

Clasping her hands tightly together, Maria mulled over Sofia's words. "How, um, did you learn these new … ideas?"

"Have you noticed how happy, how content are the servants who work in the castle?"

Indeed, Maria had noticed. It was rare to find one who wasn't in a good mood. She'd thought, after puzzling it over for several days, that perhaps it was nothing more than a facet of the typical personality in these cold climes. "Yes. Yes, I have. They all seem happy with their lot in life."

"And have you noticed how the Queen and especially how the Princess interact with their servants?"

"Truthfully, I'd not really paid much attention to that."

"Hmm. You were too focused on my needs. Isn't that true?"

"Of course! You're my mistress."

"I am. But to look at it another way, are we not both simply women?"

No, Maria had not looked at it that way. Ever. "I fear your father will not be … ah, _pleased_ with your, ah, revised views on servant relations."

"Doubtless you are correct. Which is why I will be staying here for the foreseeable future."

Maria gaped at her for a couple of breaths. "Here?" Her voice was small, hesitant.

"Yes."

"In Arendelle?"

"Nowhere else."

"For … for good? As in, years?"

"Absolutely. I may find a suitable husband amongst this hardy stock. It would be a pleasant change from the Court dandies that hounded me daily."

Now, Maria was familiar with the Countess's views on her father's rare and random attempts at arranging a suitor, and she had to agree that the general run of candidates did not impress. Still … "Will the Duke allow it?"

"My father is five hundred leagues from here. I am the fifth child, and the only daughter. He may not even notice I am gone. He never commented on my absences while I was at Court."

"But … but surely-"

"Maria, please allow me to do this. It will mean a great deal to me."

"Well. I, ah, can't … I mean, how could I say 'no'?" She'd been blushing for a few minutes by that point, and it ramped up considerably. Softly, so softly, she said, "Thank you … Sofia."

The Countess pulled the younger girl into a warm embrace. "We shall have such adventures! Maria …" She held her away and gazed into her face. "You will come with me on Thursday."

"Thursday …" Realization dawned. Her hands flew to her throat again. "But … but on Thursday … on Thursday you go and visit the … the …"

"Princess Anna. Yes. And you will come with me."

Maria _flumphed_ down into a nearby chair, the color draining from her face. "Have mercy."

Sofia knelt by her, grinning broadly. "It will be fun. You'll see."

"The Princess? An actual _Princess?_ You want _me_ to visit with a _Princess_ , as if I were some sort of _peer?_ Doña, I have no _idea_ how …"

"Sofia!"

Stunned eyes met hers. "I'm … I'm afraid I need to … lie down."

The Countess patted her hand. "That's all right. Take your time. Get used to the idea. But you'll see. It will be fun."

Her voice faint, Maria could only whisper, "Fun. Right. Sure. Fun. Can't wait."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's Office – Monday 10 January 1842, 11:15am_

Dankert Knutsen finished his series of equations at the blackboard, put down his chalk, and stepped to the side. Fighting a mischievous smile, he summed up, "And as you can see, this translates to three thousand four hundred and sixty kilograms of Antwerp's finest chocolate."

Anna bounced merrily on the loveseat by the window. "Now _that's_ a figure I can get behind!"

Elsa couldn't help but grin as well. "I must admit, Councilor, you do have a knack for putting abstract concepts into terms anyone can understand. Thank you."

Anna placed a considering finger against her cheek. "That's more chocolate than I could eat in … wow … let me think …"

"Let's just say 'a long time' and leave it at that," suggested Elsa. "I'm a bit afraid of the number you'd come up with."

"Bossy."

"It's my job." Elsa turned to Dankert. "Can you have your full report done by tomorrow's meeting?"

"That will pose no problem, Majesty."

"Wonderful. I look forward to the Council's reaction."

"As do I, Majesty."

He was arranging his effects in a large bag when there came a knock at Elsa's door.

"Mind if I join you?" came a low, dulcet voice in flawless Spanish. "I have that small tapestry Anna wanted to see."

Dankert stiffened slightly, turning toward the sound.

. . .

 _Arendelle's Minister of Finance had been something of a loner much of his life._

 _Coming, as he did, from a comfortably-wealthy trading family, he didn't have many peers as a child. Most of the children he knew were from families that worked for his father. That worthy, feeling it to be a necessary skill that would serve one all his life, had taught Dankert to read as soon as he could hold a book, and he'd fallen in love with the written word before the other children knew their alphabet. Additionally, when he was young, he developed an unknown chronic condition that left him sickly when the weather was anything but warm and dry. They'd suspected consumption, but it never developed. That fear of contagion, and the threat of repercussions if Mr. Knutsen ever got wind of it, was all that kept puny little Dankert un-beaten on a few occasions._

 _As he moved into his teen years, the condition abated somewhat, and his father (over his mother's objections) said it was time to see whether they could keep him healthy all the time. His thought for a cure was exercise, and lots of it. Mr. Knutsen engaged the services of one of the trainers for King Agdar's Guard unit, and that man knew how to hang muscle on a bone. By the time Dankert entered his seventeenth year he was, if not a master, certainly proficient with most common weapons, and with his fists and feet. He never lost his lean frame, but he was wiry and strong as opposed to 'skinny'._

 _Dankert being their only child, his mother doted on him (to a degree that occasionally pained Mr. Knutsen). Even when they were all wondering if he would ever make it out of childhood or not, she had wanted to give him every opportunity to exercise, not just his muscles, but his character; perhaps mold him into someone who wasn't_ quite _as pugilistic as his father._

 _She tried to interest him in music, one of her loves. He had lessons in the violin, then the piano, but showed no discernable aptitude for them (and an ear of rusty tin, so no singing, either)._

 _Language instruction came during that time as well. After more than three years of twice-weekly tutoring, he could carry on a conversation in French, but had no liking for the tongue, and even less for its poetry. English, he could read, and understand most of the time, but in speaking it, the verbs always tripped him up. Spanish, though, fell from his lips with relative ease, which was a bit ironic, as he never expected to have an occasion to use it. However …_

. . .

Anna jumped up and skipped to the door, holding out her hands. "Sofia! Hi, sure, come on … um …" She glanced back at her sister, who was giving the two of them a slightly bemused look. "It's okay, right? We're done and stuff, and there's no sensitive information and …"

"Yes, Anna, yes. Of course." She lifted a hand to the Countess, switching to Spanish herself. "By all means, come in."

Sofia glided into the room. Elsa gestured toward Dankert and said, "I don't believe you've met our Minister of Finance yet. This is Dankert Knutsen. Dankert, may I present Countess Sofia Ventura de Tejada y Fernandez. She's a member of the Spanish Embassy, and well on her way to becoming a good friend of Arendelle."

He only hesitated for a second before setting his burden down, striding over, and accepting her hand, to deposit a light kiss a hair's breadth above her fingers. Since the others were using it, he spoke in Spanish as well. "Charmed, I am sure, to make your acquaintance." He sent a silent word of thanks to his old tutor.

. . .

 _In the summer of his thirteenth year, Dankert had several painting lessons with Felix Jessen, the Danish Court Portraitist … and all the other difficulties just melted away in the warm glow of the things he could do with oils. He had a natural eye for form and composition, and by the end of the year he had produced nearly a dozen paintings that were technically quite good. A couple of them didn't look terribly out of place flanking the Vermeer and the Titian in the Knutsen's manor house. He had a liking for portraiture, and later did one of his mother twice a year, once on her birthday, and once at Christmas. Each had a different theme, and she loved them. His father grudgingly sat for a single portrait, and while he would toss off a gruff, "Eh, it's all right," when asked about it, that painting had a place of honor over the mantel in his study._

 _The real love of his life, though, the one skill that would propel him into a place as the youngest member ever to sit on King Agdar's Council, came to him in his fifteenth year in the form of a classic text: Isaac Newton's_ Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica _. Prior to that, Dankert had only been taught basic math, and it had come to him as naturally as breathing. His tutor at the time, an unimaginative man (to put it mildly) named Mayer, had three texts:_ Elementary Calculations _,_ An Introduction to Algebra _, and_ Concepts of Plane Geometry _. As far as he was concerned, that was all the math anyone needed, and when not-quite-ten-year-old Dankert breezed through the entire set in a month flat, the tutor reported "Satisfactory Progress" to Mr. Knutsen, took his pay, and left._

. . .

Sofia gave Dankert a quick, appraising once-over: tall, but not towering; not exactly broad-shouldered, but he looked solid enough; light brown hair pulled back into a short tail at his neck; deep-set eyes of light hazel; large nose, strong chin; no obviously-missing teeth. Noted in passing was the lack of a wedding ring. She smiled and said, "The pleasure is mine, Sir Knutsen."

"Oh, I'm not a peer, Your Grace. I'm only a mathematician." He released her hand and took half a step back.

Elsa scoffed. "Ha! 'Only', he says." Meeting Sofia's eyes, she stressed, "Councilor Knutsen holds his position through merit rather than lineage. He is quite the math prodigy."

. . .

Principia Mathematica _was a revelation. Math didn't stop with Arithmetic; it barely even glanced off the surface. Dankert devoured the books, mastered the Calculus, and yearned for more. He begged and cajoled and threatened and promised until he got his father to order off for more books on the various aspects of mathematics. He read Saccheri's analysis of Euclid, from which he deduced hyperbolic geometry, formulating his parameters in terms of tensors, and anticipating Riemann by nearly thirty years. He studied higher Algebra, and his work in multivariate equations led him to invent his own system of layered infinities. That sent him off on a tangent that led to several novel methods of cryptography. He worked with set theory and minimized spaces, irreducibility and statistical analysis, each area feeding into and supporting the others._

 _When Dankert was seventeen, he analyzed his father's trade routes and came up with a method of patterns of taking on and selling cargo that minimized the journey and maximized profit. Mr. Knutsen realized an increase of custom of nearly a hundred and forty thousand kroner in the first full year of using the system, and he was_ **sold** _. After that, anything Dankert wanted, if it was in his father's ability to acquire, Dankert got. The boy could have abused that attitude if he wanted … but that never occurred to him. He was Captain of his Ship, sailing the Endless Ocean of Mathematics. Who could want more?_

 _By his eighteenth year, his diagrams and abstracts and theorems filled nearly two dozen thick notebooks. If he had been of a mind to publish them, he would have been the toast of European intelligentsia. But he didn't. In the first place (again), it never occurred to him. In the second, he would have hated the celebrity that came with it._

. . .

"Oh, indeed? A prodigy?" Sofia had felt a slight tremor in his hand when he took hers, paired that up with his dilated eyes, rising color, and elevated rate of breathing, and concluded that she had herself a conquest, if she wanted it. "Well. I consider myself a competent student of the Precise Art. Perhaps we could discuss it at some later date."

Dankert bowed. "That would be … welcome, Your Grace."

She gave him an arch look, smiled, and said, "Sofia."

He blinked at her a few times. "I beg your pardon?"

"Elsa and Anna call me Sofia. So does my handmaiden. I would take it as a compliment if you would do the same."

The Royal Sisters shot each other a questioning glance. _[[ Maria calls her 'Sofia'? Since when? ]]_

Every bit as confused as Elsa, Anna gave her head a tiny shake.

"Ah. I, ah, I see." The ghost of a smile drifted across Dankert's lips. "Very well … Countess Sofia."

Sofia tittered softly and said to Elsa, "You can't break some people from a proper upbringing, can you?"

"Indeed not," agreed Elsa with a nod and a grin at Dankert's expense.

Despite the winter chill that always managed to seep into the castle, the man was beginning to sweat a bit. "Your Majesty, I would like to get started on your report. May I bid you good day?" he asked, carefully _not_ looking Sofia's way.

Sofia turned a brilliant smile on him. "It isn't terribly far from noon. Surely you wouldn't refuse an invitation to take luncheon with us."

Elsa subtly got Anna's attention. _[[ Is she interested in him? Or is she merely flirting? ]]_

Giving a tiny shrug, Anna mouthed, _Ask her later._

 _[[ They only just met! ]]_

The redhead flashed her a grin.

. . .

 _After a couple of years, the old Minister of Finance, Baron Leif Hagen, noticed quite a significant increase in the tax revenue Arendelle saw from Mr. Knutsen's enterprise, and paid the man a visit to learn his secret. The trader was more than happy to brag on his son, laying all the recent success at his feet, and Baron Hagen and Dankert were soon deep in conversation. The Baron was gobsmacked by the young man's ability, and said as much. A quick perusal of his notebooks convinced him that Arendelle had a bona fide genius in their midst. He made an appointment with King Agdar the very next week, and the week after that Dankert found himself ensconced in his own suite of rooms in the Castle. The King allowed him to visit his parents whenever he wished (and they, him) assuming it didn't interfere with his work helping the Minister of Finance add a bit of finesse to Arendelle's policies. Dankert, freshly turned twenty, was expected to continue his advanced studies; and he was content._

 _Two years later, King Agdar and Queen Idunn were lost at sea._

 _Two years after that, Baron Hagen died of a sudden stroke. The Council unanimously appointed then-twenty-four-year-old Dankert the new Minister of Finance, over his protestations. He knew what the job entailed, and knew it would cut into his study time._

 _A year later, Elsa was crowned Queen. After a few days of, shall we say, unseasonable weather, and once everyone calmed down a bit, he finally got to meet her._

 _She was a revelation. It wasn't as though he_ pined _over her, exactly, but he never passed up an opportunity to spend time in her presence. He was always perfectly correct, professional to a fault … and thoroughly cognizant of the fact that there was no way in Hell he could ever be in a relationship with her. But he was okay with admiring her from a distance, so to speak. He did execute a very good portrait of her, though … and kept it well hidden. After not too much time passed, his crush matured into the admiration the rest of the kingdom held toward her. It also had the effect of bringing to his attention the fact that he would like to marry at some point, and that there were any number of possible candidates for the position to be found in the kingdom. It was something he kept telling himself he'd address, but never quite got around to it._

 _None of that, however, was on his mind at the moment …_

. . .

Dankert's eyes flicked rapidly between the three women. "I w-wouldn't want to impose. I'll have some roast sent up and …" He stilled at her hand on his forearm.

"If it is simply impossible for you to stay today, we must determine a time to dine together soon." Shifting her focus to Elsa, she continued, "Perhaps after your meeting tomorrow, we might arrange a dinner. Do you think that would be possible?" Setting her eyes once more on Dankert, she added, "I'm intrigued by the opportunity to find out what makes a man a math prodigy."

Elsa nodded. "I'm sure we can come up with something. But, Sofia, he truly does have quite a bit of work to do now, and doubtless he wants to get to it. Is that not so, Councilor?"

"Yes!" His voice was _almost_ too loud. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Your Majesty. If I want it to be presentable, and have a draught for everyone, I should get to it."

"Very well. Off you go." Elsa waved her fingers at him.

He grabbed up his bag and scooted rapidly out the door, pulling it shut behind him. Elsa noted with quiet amusement that he'd forgotten the easel.

 _Three …_

 _Two …_

 _One …_

"Soooo- _feeeeee_ -ahhhh …" said Anna in a singsong. She had her hands clasped behind her back and was swinging gently side to side.

Imperturbable, Sofia met smiling faces with a gaze of utter calm. "Yes, Anna? Did you want to examine the tapestry now?"

"Tapestry? Yeah, right. You just tied that poor man up in a knot and set a bow on him."

White teeth flashed briefly. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean."

Elsa observed, _"You_ have a new admirer."

"I wouldn't discount that as a possibility."

Lacing her fingers together and resting her elbows on her desk, Elsa said, "Be gentle with him, please. Phenomenally competent Finance Ministers don't turn up in every net, and it would sorely tax my Council to find a replacement."

"I shall be the soul of propriety."

"Yes, you shall. He has a job critical to my kingdom's well-being. He doesn't need distractions."

Anna barked a laugh at her wording. "Too late for that, Sis! Way, _way_ too late."

. . .

The path to Dankert's office threaded down two long halls, up a short flight of stairs, a hard right, and then another hall. The trip normally took him two minutes or so. This time he made it inside in less than one.

Slamming the door behind him, he leaned up against it and fought to catch his breath.

 _The face of an angel. No, a goddess. Surely only Aphrodite could have possessed such blinding beauty._

Several long breaths passed as his highly-compartmentalized mind carefully outlined and cataloged each feature.

 _Full, wine-red lips quirked in the beginning of a knowing smile. He'd noticed her lips first. Plump and dewy and soft and_ _ **begging**_ _to be kissed._

 _High brows over large eyes of the deepest, truest brown he'd ever seen, sparks of mischief dancing in their corners._

 _Hair like dark chocolate, a luscious confection piled artfully on her head, with silken streams escaping down her slim back._

 _Her delicate hand, smooth and cool where they had touched, the skin pliable and unmarred, smelling faintly of jasmine._

He let his head knock back against the wood and closed his eyes.

 _God help me._

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Rome, Italy – Friday 21 January 1842, 8:20pm_

Thunder rolled outside as the winter storm lashed at the city, rattling windows and sending gelid drafts in past them. In the Cardinal's apartments, servants had stuffed and battened all the seams they could find and stoked the fires to furnace heat in an effort to keep the old man from freezing to death.

The Cardinal's visitor, however, didn't suffer from the same thin blood, and was sweating freely. Wiping his face again, he stated, "I don't believe it. _Now_ you get squeamish? Murder and torture and mayhem and throwing a peaceful kingdom into utter chaos don't faze you, but toss in a little magic and-"

"Is such a thing absolutely necessary?" Cardinal Papella gazed with overt revulsion at the small chest on his desk.

The container was hexagonal, about two spans across and one deep, and made of some old, dark wood. Every surface was inlaid with lodestones of hematite in arcane patterns that glowed just enough to be detected in the low light. Rather than being hinged, it was held closed by six latches of enchanted silver. Each depicted the face of a different diabolic being.

"Do you want the Snow Queen at your mercy or not? I'd been given to understand-"

"Yes. I do. She must pay for her unspeakable crimes."

"Then your answer is yes. It is necessary. Crucial, even." The Guild's representative (a likely fellow by the name of Yuri, though Papella would never know that), who'd learned as much as any of his compatriots about Elsa's history, repressed his urge to shake his head in disgust. To him, it was six of one, half a dozen of the other as regarded their client's choice of target. A job was a job. But Arendelle's Queen, to the best of their intelligence, had committed no crimes of any kind, much less one deserving of capital punishment … much _less_ one that could get her burned at the stake, as Papella planned. His face unreadable, the man said, "Would you like to see it?"

The Cardinal was as curious about such a thing as anyone would be. He gave a short nod.

Yuri donned a pair of leather gloves, withdrew a small block of carved ivory from a silk bag, and fitted it over the largest hasp. Slowly and with obvious effort, he turned it counter-clockwise until a faint chime was heard … a note that sounded to the ear somehow wrong, with a wrongness that couldn't be repaired. It set Papella's teeth on edge, and he visibly shuddered. "What in God's name was that?"

"Nothing, I assure you, that has anything to do with God." Yuri moved to the next latch and repeated the procedure.

With every opening, the chiming got louder, harsher, more grating. By the time the sixth came loose, Papella's breath was failing him, his vision dim. He had to use both hands to keep himself in his chair.

Yuri cocked his head and studied the Cardinal. "That makes you uncomfortable?"

"That would make the _dead_ 'uncomfortable'!"

"Hmm. Interesting."

"What?"

"Nothing to concern you." _So_ , he thought, _the old fart has a bit of magic in his veins. I'd bet my weight in gold he has no idea._ The assassin lifted the lid straight up. "Look, but do not touch, as you value your sanity." And he added to himself, _What's left of it._

It took him most of a minute to calm himself and regain his breath, but at length Papella lifted the small lantern from the edge of his desk and used it to peer into the case. He froze. A whispered, "Monstrous!" escaped his lips. Easing back in his chair, he gave Yuri a ragged look. "What is it?"

"You really want to know?"

"Should I not?"

A shrug preceded, "Some clients don't want any details."

Papella struggled with himself for several breaths, his eyes gleaming red in the lantern light. "… What is it?"

Yuri glanced into the case. The object within appeared to be a severed, desiccated hand … but it was as long as the container, grayish green, sparsely covered in white hair, and sported thick black claws on each of its three fingers. "That is the hand of a murdered troll named Oogha."

"Troll?" scoffed the Cardinal. "Trolls are legend. Nothing more."

The Guild representative stared at the old man for a couple of breaths. "The Master had said you were woefully uninformed about a lot of things. He wasn't overstating the case."

"Oh, more insults? How petty."

"You would refute the evidence of your eyes? What else do you suppose this might be?"

Papella didn't have a ready comeback.

After placing the lid back on the box and carefully re-engaging the latches (to Papella's obvious relief), Yuri said, "It is of no consequence to me whether or not you accept the origin of this artifact." He pushed the case toward the Cardinal. "Get this in the hands of your agents. Explain how it is to be used. If they do their jobs, if they follow the instructions exactly, and if your research is accurate, you will have her in your power."

"I would still rather that you people do it."

"That is not up for discussion. You were unwilling to meet our price."

"Your price was insane."

"So is this commission."

The old man crossed his arms and pouted. "But surely if this works as you say …"

Yuri held up a hand. "Again: we already discussed this. Elsa of Arendelle is no sort of witch, no seer, no sorceress, nor anything else we have encountered before. She is the avatar of Morana, the Goddess of Winter and Death, and her power cannot _**be**_ overestimated."

"So you say." Papella still believed her to be a sorceress.

"Yes, I do. While it is true that we know much of her powers – and what we do know is frightful enough – there are strong hints that she may possess unplumbed depths. If you want the Guild to perform the abduction, we would conduct a great deal more research beforehand, close and careful and complete; some months, at least. The timetable you have demanded precludes that."

They sat in silence for most of a minute, the old man worrying his chin with two fingers, the younger standing passively.

"Very well." The Cardinal slid an ornate brass key Yuri's way. "That opens the vault. Your gold is in it."

Yuri twirled the key, admiring how it caught the candle light. "A pleasure doing business."

Papella pulled the box closer, then reached over and picked up the envelope containing the details of how it was to be used. "We'll do it your way. But this better work."

"I told you. It will suspend her powers as long as it is near her. That is what you asked for."

"Yes. That is all I need."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Munich, Bavaria – Thursday 27 January 1842, 8:45pm_

Even before a lack of discretion deprived him of his ears, Adolphe Thiers, former Minister of Foreign Affairs for King Louis Philippe of France, had not been blessed with a prepossessing appearance. As things stood, he had to wear a scarf and a hat to avoid scaring children. Being painfully aware of that fact, he tended to keep to himself. So, it was with a bit of surprise that he answered his door bell to find the ex-Regent of Spain, Maria Cristina on his stoop.

They stared at each other for a breath or two before his visitor asked, "Are you planning to invite me in, or simply stand there letting all the heat out?"

They were soon seated. She glanced around. "Modest place."

"Considering recent events, it will have to do." He lifted a heavy bottle and poured himself a finger of some dark liquor; tossed it off; refilled his glass. Holding it out to her, he said, "Brandy?"

"Thank you, no."

After taking the second shot (which, to be frank, was rather more than his second), he said, "You have a truly breathtaking amount of gall to come here after what you did."

"Mssr. Thiers, if what I have learned bears any semblance to reality, you have none but yourself to blame for your dire straits."

"If you had played your part as you-"

"No. Don't even start. It wouldn't have mattered a whit _who_ you picked as your bait. You under-estimated her. We _all_ under-estimated her. Drastically. Her reach. Her power." Maria Cristina gave a tiny shiver that had nothing to do with the weather. "She took my house."

A frown. "What?"

"My house. We had taken a house in Farsund to-"

"Yes, yes, I know. Cardin arranged it all." He leaned forward. "Do you mean to say she sent her own troops onto Norwegian soil? I would think King Charles would-"

"That is not what I mean at all. Not at all. She knew where we were. I don't know how. Maybe she followed Cardin's man. Maybe she could see with her magic. But when that Hans fellow arrived and told me they had managed to lose the Princess-"

"What do you mean?"

"They took Princess Anna, and-"

"Yes, yes, I know that. The Ice Witch told me that much. But she said they stopped it."

"Not at first. They were a day and a half out to Farsund with the Princess and her stupid little maid on board. Then their mainmast snapped off. Once they got that under control, they found them missing."

"… In the middle of the North Sea?"

"Elsa must have retrieved them."

"And no one saw anything?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I was so incensed, I took Fleurette and went to find some akvavit. When we got back, the house was gone."

He stared at her.

She stared back and nodded.

"Gone."

"All of it. Like a giant plucked it up. Nothing left but a foundation."

"Dear God. What have I done?"

"Poked a dragon. But you didn't know it was a dragon." She sat back with a self-satisfied look. "But now we do."

"… Do what?"

"Know what we're up against. Next time, we'll use proxies, and no one will know-"

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, no. If I had a more intense means of conveying the concept of 'no', I would use it. I will have no part of opposing Queen Elsa."

"But we have information! And we can get more. You'll see, it will only be a matter of time and good investigation and-"

"Please leave."

"… Are you _serious?_ We can strike back at her! And I know just the people."

"I will have _nothing_ to do with _anything_ that _begins_ to _think_ about entertaining the _possibility_ of crossing the Snow Queen. Little good it does me now, but I have learnt my lesson." He poured himself another shot.

"I never took you for a coward."

Thiers regarded her coldly for a moment, then removed his hat and unwound the scarf around his head.

Maria Cristina gave a small gasp/shriek combination. "What happened to your head?"

"The Snow Queen happened to it. She let me go with my life and precious little else. If you wish to meddle in her affairs, I won't stop you." He re-wrapped his head and placed his hat back on. "But I won't help, and I don't want to know any details. Hell, I don't even want to know the broad strokes." Picking up his drink, he poured the fiery liquid down his throat, then held the glass up with three fingers. "See this? Brandy. Right now, brandy dulls the pain in my head. It's always there. I can barely sleep. I don't know if it will ever go away. Maybe when the bare patches grow over. If they ever do. But right now, brandy is keeping me sane." He refocused on his visitor. "I have had my fill and more of dealing with the Snow Queen." He stood. "So, if you will be so kind as to take your leave …" Walking to his door, he opened it and held it for her.

Slowly, she rose and approached him. Stopped. Gave him a long look. "And you don't desire revenge?"

"I desire to be left intact. She made threats that I have no doubt whatsoever she would carry out, and I've no wish to test that presumption." He held a hand out toward the street. "If you please."

He closed the door on her before she could turn around to protest further. "Brandy. More brandy. That's what I need."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _Well, it looks like our good friend, the Cardinal, is getting one of his plans up and running. One of them._**

 ** _Will Maria Cristina go ahead with her scheme on her own, now that Thiers has bowed out? Wait and see._**

 ** _Will Dankert be able to concentrate on his presentation? Ha. It is to laugh. Poor sap._**

 ** _Lots more to come. Stay tuned! And as always, comments are welcome._**


	13. Assignations

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note: Just a bit of necessary background for developments down the path.**_

 _ **I wanted to thank everyone who has Reviewed or Favorited, or otherwise communicated with me about this story. I cherish (and sometimes use) your input.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: Assignations**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle – Saturday 05 February 1842, 3:45pm_

The _Astoria_ was a decent-sized three-masted schooner. She flew an Italian flag, but spent most of her time carting passengers and freight from one spot to another along the Atlantic and North Sea coasts. A trip to Arendelle wasn't part of her usual routes, but there had been enough people in Amsterdam who wanted to go there for the Captain to see a profit. And he was never known to pass up a quick bit of gold, even if it meant sailing into less-than-pleasant weather.

The gangplank had barely touched the dock before some of the passengers started milling down its length, anxious to get out of the light freezing rain before hypothermia set in. Most of them carried everything they brought with them in a bag or two. Most of them had passed the trip either below decks with the cargo (the luckier ones) or huddled under one of several lean-tos lined up along the railing. Some of these were men – and a few women – fleeing the wars or persecution or financial ruin on the Continent. A handful had viable trades they felt would be of use. They had heard hints of Elsa's kindness, of Arendelle's freedoms. All of them were hoping for something better here. A few would find it.

Those with greater means, though, hung back and waited until the crowd thinned. These were the passengers who could afford a berth in the common room, or in one of the few cramped cabins. Among that much smaller group were two rather large, bearded men in identical long, black fur overcoats, with matching fur hats offering excellent protection from the icy wind. They waited until no other passengers remained before debarking.

The Harbormaster's Assistant, Jan Ericsson, sized them up and readied his ledger. "Names?"

"Piotr Andropovich."

"Alexi Andropovich."

He eyed them. "Brothers?"

"How is that any concern of yours?" replied Piotr with a heavy Russian accent.

"Damn, man, I'm just curious." He glanced down at the paper. "What's your business here in Arendelle?"

"Ale."

Jan cocked an eye. "Buying or selling?"

"Buying."

"Really. Well, you've come to the right place."

"That is our information, yes. We wish import your dark ale for Tsar's command unit."

He stamped their papers. "Welcome to Arendelle."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _6:20pm_

Piotr unlocked the front door of the small house they had leased, commenting, "Lock rusty. Need to oil." He moved on in, set his lantern on a table, and gestured. "Leave trunks here. We will unpack."

The three sturdy stevedores were only too happy to finally offload their burdens. They'd hauled the heavy articles far, far from the docks, up into the hilly area north of the city proper, and the weather had not improved their mood. They wrestled the eight containers off the wagon, settled their oilcloths back into place over their coats, and hurried off through the wet dark to the warmth of fire and ale.

'Alexi' walked over to the side window and peered out, nodding. "Lev was correct," he said in passable Russian. "We can see the lights of the castle from here."

'Piotr' smirked. "Should we happen to obtain a chance to speak with the Queen, you should let me do the talking."

"Damn it. Is my Russian still that bad?"

"She's fluent," he answered in English. "You'll need a lot more practice. I'd suggest sticking to Norwegian and claiming a desire to gain expertise. She'll certainly understand and sympathize with that. And your Norwegian is better than mine."

"A bit, yes." He wandered over to one of the trunks, unlocked it, and opened the lid. Removing a carefully-padded object, he took it to the window, removed the wrapping, and began setting up a telescope.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle – Saturday 12 February 1842, 7:15pm_

Carlos thanked the servant at the bar, threaded his way back to Elsa through the revelers at the Winter Gala, and handed her a small glass of _akvavit_. She took it absently, turning her gaze up to him with a little smile. He smiled back and said, "Penny for your thoughts?"

Taking a sip, and favoring him with a darkly intent gaze, she Sent _[[ Six weeks. ]]_

His grin was wide and immediate. "I can think of little else myself." Moving closer and slipping an arm around her waist, he added _**[[ Oh, My Heart, the things I want to show you! ]]**_

 _[[ Stop it. You'll get us both in trouble. I'm trying to keep my thoughts away from … that. At least in public. ]]_

Pulling her a little closer, he leaned down and whispered against her hair, "As you wish. We have all the time in the world."

His closeness drew a tiny, content sigh (and a slight blush) from the Queen. They stood that way for a minute.

Anna whirled up then, spinning away from Kristoff and skidding to a stop in front of the pair. "Hey, Sis! Hey, Carlos! Great party!"

Elsa smirked and said, "As I've been given to understand, any time you get the opportunity to dance is a great party."

"Well, yeah."

Kristoff put in, "I'm just glad I got these new boots first. They don't pinch, and the leather's soft."

Anna peered around, spotted her quarry, and nudged Carlos. He gave her a questioning look, and she responded by jerking her head toward one of the balconies. Following her line of sight, he saw Councilor Knutsen standing in the shadow of one of the long curtains. With a sigh, he asked, "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"Somebody needs to. And it would sound better coming from a man."

"True." He gave Elsa a bit of a squeeze, dropped a light kiss on her hair, and said, "Duty calls, I suppose."

She gave him one of those smiles that hinted how proud she was of him. "Good luck."

A minute later Carlos slipped up just to Dankert's right and said, "You look like someone killed your dog."

The other man startled and shot Carlos a look, blinking rapidly. "What? No! I'm … it's fine. I'm fine."

"Sure you are." He sipped his drink, quiet for a couple of breaths. "She'll be more than happy to dance with you, you know."

"… Who?"

"Oh, please. You might as well be wearing a sign. Go dance with her."

"But … but look at that guy! He's like some kind of dance-god!"

"And that's about the extent of his usefulness as a human. That's Eric Eberhard. He's Baron Eberhard's second son."

"… Eberhard has _two_ children? Really? He never talks about anyone but Karl."

"They don't get on so well. The Councilor has a pretty good idea of what kind of man Eric is." He raised a brow at Dankert. "Wait a minute. You've been on the Council for four years and you didn't know one of the other Councilors had two sons?"

"… Okay. So how'd _you_ know about it? You're hardly ever in the meetings."

Carlos made no mention of the fact that he _did_ attend the meetings … just not in person. "Elsa and I talk. All the time. She knows the Council members extremely well."

"Yeah. She does." He took another sip. "Fair enough."

"Surely you're more curious about people than that."

He scoffed. "They never talk to _me_ unless it involves some aspect of my job. Why would they? They're all older than my _father_ , for God's sake. I don't have anything to add to the wisdom of any of their conversations, and we all know it."

"By the Saints, how do you get such a poor-minded view of yourself? You get kicked as a child or something?"

Dankert tipped his drink back, saying nothing.

"Hmm. Well. Time to grow out of it." He gave the man a slight push. "Head her way. This number is winding down. I'll get them to play a waltz."

 _A waltz. That might work. I can do a credible waltz._ He downed the rest of his wine and handed the glass to Carlos, who waved him off with a grin and a salute. Straightening his coat, he made his casual way across the room, trying to will his heart rate down, and slowing as he approached, staring in awe.

She was dazzling. Whirling gracefully in a yellow, off-the-shoulder gown with subtle white highlights and puffy sleeves, her face glowed in the magical light of the hundred lanterns Elsa had placed around the huge room. She caught a glimpse of him … and smiled.

His chest grew uncomfortably tight. Marshalling his courage, he stepped forward as the last notes of the lively Polka faded away, bowed, and asked in perfectly correct Spanish, "Might I have this next dance?"

Young Mister Eberhard stepped between him and Sofia. He didn't understand what Dankert had said, but he knew a rival when he saw one. He stuck to Norwegian. "I believe the lady has already made her choice, Knutsen, and it ain't you."

Sofia allowed a tiny frown to settle across her eyes, watching Dankert carefully.

He met her gaze steadily, saying, "Don't you think that should be up to her?"

"… What?"

"I said," continued Dankert, switching to Norwegian, "don't you think that should be her choice?"

"An' I told _you_ she already made it."

"For the last two dances, perhaps. But it would be un-gallant to monopolize such a lovely flower all evening. Unless, of course, that is what Her Grace prefers?" He wondered how long he'd be able to keep tremors out of his voice.

Sofia's frown had melted into a shy smile. She moved gracefully around to Dankert's right, never breaking eye contact, and said, in her native tongue, "I am almost _sure_ I told you to call me Sofia."

"Yes," he responded in Spanish, "but that was in the privacy of Princess Anna's dining room. I did not wish to presume."

"And I made no such distinction … Dankert."

"Very well … Sofia. May I have this next dance?"

"I think that would be pleasant." She laid her fingers lightly on his proffered forearm.

Eric spluttered, "Now see here, Knutsen …"

Sofia turned a narrowed glance his way. "That would be _Councilor_ Knutsen to you, would it not?"

His mouth snapping shut, Eric grit his teeth and stomped off, muttering imprecations about uppity commoners not knowing their places.

The waltz began. Dankert bowed. Sofia curtseyed, slowly and in perfect control. He took her right hand in his left, placed his other on her waist, and danced off into Heaven.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Knutsen Manor, Sunday 13 February 1842, 10:45am_

A liveried butler answered the door, only to cock an eyebrow when he identified Dankert. "Councilor Knutsen. Welcome home. I will inform your father."

"That won't be necessary, Jakob. I'm here to talk with Mother."

"Ah. Very good, very good. She is in the Conservatory."

"Thank you."

It didn't take Dankert long to make his way to the back of the house, across the windy covered walk, and into the glass enclosure. During warmer months, the place was a riot of color. At present, the only flowers showing were pansies and a few crocuses. His mother, Bathsheba Knutsen, nee Errolsson, sat on a comfortably-molded chair, her back to a shaft of sunlight, a book in her hands. It was a picture he knew well.

She looked up as he closed the door, and a broad smile covered her face. "Dankert! What a pleasant surprise!"

He walked over, bent, and kissed a plump cheek. "How are you doing, Mother? How's your leg?"

"Eh. As good as it ever gets anymore. Once you hit forty-five, things don't heal the way they used to; this weather is no friend to a broken bone, and never will be."

"I could, you know, ask Queen Elsa …"

"Don't you dare! Just think of the precedent that would set! I'll be fine. If I wanted to be out of the cold, I would be." She turned her face up to the sun and smiled, closing her eyes against the clear light. "But sometimes I need this, too."

Dankert nodded. He knew how hard the short, dark days were on his mother's spirit. She did need the sun, and took every opportunity to enjoy it, no matter how cold it might be.

"You might stoke up that stove over there, though. It would knock the chill off."

The young man busied himself doing that for a couple of minutes before coming back to sit beside his mother.

She patted his knee. "Now. What's on your mind?"

He grinned for a moment. _She always knows exactly what to do._ "Well … There's this girl. Woman, really, she's … I think she's twenty-four."

"Anyone I know?"

"No. She's with the Spanish Embassy."

"My word. So, she's from Spain?"

"Yes."

"What's her name?"

"Sofia Ventura de Tejada y Fernandez."

"Sofia. That's a pretty name."

"It sure is."

"And you want to court her?"

He hung his head and stared at his shoes as the moments stretched out. Finally, he said, "Mother … it's never been a secret that you and Father don't … share much affection."

She chuckled. "Yes, you could say that. He's a single-minded sort, and what he focuses on is his businesses. To excellent effect, I might point out."

"That's for sure."

"What does that have to do with this Spanish … lady? I assume she's a peer of some sort, to be with the Embassy?"

"Countess. Her father is a wealthy Duke, favored in the Court at Madrid."

"Well. You aim for the prize, it seems."

"She's not a prize!"

"Whoa, son, no need to get huffy. I only meant you set your sights high."

"I didn't set them. They … sort of got set for me."

"Fallen for her, have you?"

"Like a barrel over a waterfall."

"So, what's the problem?" She frowned, pursed her lips. "Wait. You've never talked to me about a girl before. Does that mean what I think it means?"

He shrugged. "She's the first one I've felt this way about."

"And how does _she_ feel?"

"… I don't know. She's … friendly. But she's friendly as a rule. She and Princess Anna are getting closer every day. I think Anna may be rubbing off on her, from a few comments I've picked up."

"Have you told this girl – Sofia?"

"Yes?"

"Have you told Sofia how you feel?"

"… Not with words."

"Words are usually the best way to get something like that across."

He was silent for half a minute, then looked up at her. "Mother, as a general rule, you seem happy. Are you happy?"

She smirked. "Why this sudden interest in my happiness?"

"It's not sudden, exactly. I've never looked at it from quite this angle, but it's not as if I never wondered before. I know Father can be a little … distant."

"I prefer to think of him as preoccupied, with a distaste for interruptions."

"Yeah. That's accurate." Cocking his head, he observed, "You didn't answer my question."

Patting his cheek, she answered, "Yes, I'm happy."

"… Why?"

That made her laugh. "A fair question. In my experience, people are about as happy as they decide to be. But, to expound a bit … I have you. You make me _so_ proud! Also, I meet Karoline on Saturdays for tea, and her little planning sessions. I have my whist league in here two nights a week. I have my music. I don't want for anything; as you pointed out, your father is nothing if not a good provider, and although there is no love there, he never says no to any of my requests. I have never had to cook for us, for which you should be thankful. So, yes. My life is a happy one."

"Were you ever unhappy with your marriage?"

She had to think that over. "Perhaps. At the beginning. It was quite sudden, you know. Your father is twelve years my senior, and our marriage consolidated his position. He never made any effort to win my affection, but then I was a silly sixteen-year-old, and had not the vaguest _clue_ what I wanted out of a marriage. If I'd had to run the household without servants, we all would have been in trouble. Thank the Lord for Jakob and Sara."

Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers and stared off through the wall. After a minute, he said, "I would never want to do that to her."

 _Yep. He's got it bad._ "Dankert, if you love her, and you broach the subject of courtship, trust me, she'll figure it out."

A sigh escaped. "You're doubtless correct. She's quite intelligent."

"So are you."

"But I'm in untraveled territory here. I don't want to mess this up."

"Then talk to her. Be honest. Be yourself. Don't pretend to any knowledge or feelings or opinions you don't truly have. Tell her how you feel and ask her, plainly, if she would be willing to consider courtship. If she is worthy of your love, she will be honest with you as well." She rearranged the blanket across her knees. "Your father has always been honest with me. _Brutally_ honest, to be sure, and I certainly didn't _like_ what he had to say sometimes, but I never had to wonder what he was thinking. I believe it's worked out reasonably well. Just imagine how much better it will be for you, with love in the equation."

He had to grin at that. "As usual, you are a fountain of good sense."

"I'm your mother. It's my job."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's office, Monday 14 February 1842, 3:00pm_

Sofia set her teacup back onto the saucer with a tiny clink, and folded her hands in her lap. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"It sounded urgent."

"Well … _urgent_ might be too strong a word, but I do think this needs to be addressed as soon as is practical."

"Then I'll try to help if I may."

"Thank you. I'm still not fully conversant with local customs, and I didn't want to offend."

Elsa let the corners of her mouth quirk up. "Most of us are relatively difficult to offend."

"The Royal Family, yes, but you and Anna are decidedly atypical in a lot of ways. I'm not well acquainted with many other people."

"Still, I don't think anything you would propose would be out of line." She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the desk. "So, what did you want to know?"

"I wish to marry your Minister of Finance, and wanted to know if there existed a particular protocol for going about it."

That wasn't anywhere on Elsa's short list of things Sofia might say. It took her a moment to compose her thoughts. "I, ah … I see. Marriage."

"Yes."

"To Dankert Knutsen?"

"Yes."

"Dankert? A man you've known for a month?"

"We've had several lengthy and diverting conversations; he has a pleasing voice and a ready wit, and speaks Spanish beautifully. Our dances together at your gala helped me make my final decision. Also, he is highly-placed in your government, and has a secure future. I believe he would make a more-than-acceptable husband, so, yes."

Elsa simply stared at her for a bit.

"I can see you have doubts. Should I arrange events so he thinks it is his idea? That is the prevalent attitude around the Court in Madrid."

"… Um …"

Sofia held up a cautionary hand. "I don't mean right away. Of course, there would be a period of engagement of at least six months. That much I do know."

"This all seems rather sudden." Elsa couldn't quite bring herself to object outright, considering how quickly she and Carlos had fallen for each other. But that, she insisted to herself, was a special case. "Are you _quite_ sure of your decision? Would you not, perhaps, prefer to investigate other options?"

"No, I'm sure. Dankert will be, I believe, as close to ideal as I am likely to find."

"I … um … that is, what is it about him that … what makes … . . . … why him?"

"Because he loves me."

"That's … true." Elsa certainly couldn't argue the point. Dankert was smitten, and no mistake. It was glaringly obvious to anyone who had seen him in her presence. "I'm positive he would find such an arrangement thrilling, now that _you've_ fallen in love with _him_."

"Oh, I'm not in love with him."

This conversation was jerking Elsa around a bit more than she was used to. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not in love with him."

The Queen's mouth opened and shut twice. "… I'm confused."

"Elsa … Dankert and I have become great friends. That is something to be prized above almost all other aspects of a relationship. It's possible to love someone without really liking him. I've seen that happen, and it wasn't pretty. From what I know of Dankert thus far, we will _never_ run out of things to talk about, and that is precious to me. No, I don't love him now, but I _like_ him immensely. I think it entirely likely that I will grow to love him after a time." She shrugged a bit. "Even if I don't, it will be a good marriage."

"But you aren't sure you'll love him?"

"Well, no. No one can ever be _completely_ sure of anything. We are not _promised_ tomorrow."

"True enough. Still, I think your position on this rather odd." She grasped for words. "How did you … why would you think … what I mean to say is, would you prefer …"

"Why do I not crave the fairy tale?"

"Thank you. Yes, that's one way to put it."

"I do. I suppose all women do. You and Anna even _found_ your fairy tale endings. But that is rare. Oh, so incredibly rare. How often does a woman marry a man, thinking she can change him, mold him into the 'perfect' husband, only to find those hopes dashed?"

That gave Elsa somewhat to pause. "I've known it to happen."

"And how often do women in our position have the opportunity to so much as have a _say_ in the choice of husbands?"

"Another excellent point. I'd had that worry, myself."

"As had I. One of the reasons I was anxious to be included in the Delegation was so I could get _away_ from the Court and all those obnoxious, self-absorbed dandies that kept inflicting their presence on me." She covered a giggle. "Not that I thought of it in those terms at the time. It was mostly subconscious. But my experiences here have … changed me. For the better, I think."

"You _have_ become quite a good friend in the few months you've lived here." Something occurred to Elsa that made her frown. "So … are you going to eventually want to move back to Spain? I'm not sure I-"

"No-no-no! Absolutely not. There is nothing in Spain that calls to me anymore."

"Really? Your family?"

"My brothers and I have never gotten along; the youngest is eight years older than I, and I've never risen above the rank of 'nuisance' for any of them. My _father_ doesn't get along with _anyone_ , or pretend to. He doesn't see the need. And my mother died when I was fifteen."

Elsa put three fingers against her lips for a moment before whispering, "Just like Anna."

"It _has_ been something we've discussed, yes."

"I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"So am I. Mama was … special. I was the light of her eyes. We were very close, as I was the baby of the family and the only girl. Things became … difficult. After she died."

Elsa got lost in memories for a minute, but finally shook herself free. "Very well. You're staying in Arendelle for good?"

"That's the plan."

"And you want to marry Dankert, even though you don't love him?"

"Elsa … Mama gave me a piece of advice that she told me in strictest confidence she wished she'd followed herself."

"Which is?"

"Marry a man who loves you. He will do everything in his power to make you happy. If he's a decent provider and doesn't make you queasy when you look at him across the breakfast table, it will work out."

Elsa's lips twisted as she fought off a grin. "I take it your mother didn't do that?"

"Hers was an arranged marriage. Political. She wanted better for me." Sofia sat up straighter. "And so do I."

"And you think Dankert …"

"I do. In fact, I have no doubt. And you can see for yourself all his good qualities."

"Well. Yes. He's brilliant."

"He's kind to a fault."

"He's also arguably the second or third most _reasonable_ member of the Council, depending on whether Mikael is in an obstinate mood."

"He has an excellent situation."

"That he does."

"And he's in good health, and I wouldn't mind at all if our children look like him."

"True. He's not bad looking."

"I'd go a little further than that, frankly."

"Have it your way. He's a fine figure of a man."

"That he is."

Elsa sat back and considered the other woman. "You're … twenty-four?"

"Yes. And he's almost twenty-seven. Old enough to make his own decisions."

"He makes decisions for the entire _kingdom_. That's not something I worry about. Well, usually. He _has_ seemed to have a lot on his mind recently." She mock-glared accusingly at Sofia. "I'm going to assume that's _your_ fault."

"Then, do you have any objections to my goals?"

It took less than half a minute for Elsa to mull it all over. She shook her head slowly. "I suppose not. But I hope you understand what you're doing."

"I do. I have thought this over thoroughly."

"Very well. You have my blessing." She sighed. "Maybe, if he's engaged, he won't be quite so distracted."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **End Note: I know this story is titled "Cross Purposes", but that doesn't mean that EVERYTHING in it has to be that way, right? Sofia and Dankert have similar goals, though they don't yet know it.**_

 _ **Reviews = Love!**_


	14. Gatherings

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **I wanted to take a moment for two things:**_

 _ **First, I apologize for the hiatus. Aspects of Mundane Existence have conspired to keep me busy at other tasks.**_

 _ **Second, I wanted to thank those of you who have commented or Favorited or Followed. You make my heart glad.**_

 _ **Here, then, is the next installment in the story. For those longing for action, be patient with me for another few chapters. Ditto for those longing for romance. Both are in the offing.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen: Gatherings**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Tuesday 15 February 1842, dusk_

Muffled in heavy furs, the thin, bald man climbed the stairs to the tall tower's roof, occasionally taking a flight two at a time, until he arrived at the cote. Five birds fluttered and cooed there, and to each he went, soothing and petting them before removing the tiny brass tubes from their legs. He spread a measure of grain across the large, flat stone in the cote's center, and the small birds jumped down to feast. After stoking the fire in the small stove that kept the birds from freezing to death in the sub-Artic nights, he retraced his path.

Back downstairs, he walked swiftly along a couple of short corridors until stopping before a heavy door of dark hardwood. He took the bell-pull and gave it four sharp yanks.

"Come," filtered through the door, and he lifted the latch and entered. It only took a few steps to place him in front of the man behind the Spartan desk, cold, silvery-gray eyes following him carefully. He gave an abbreviated bow and held out his hand. "Messages, my Khan."

The other man nodded. The visitor deposited the tubes on the desk, and left.

Drawing on a pair of thin-but-impervious gloves, he methodically opened each tube and removed the narrow strips of paper.

He was familiar enough with their code systems that he didn't need to refer to the key, and quickly perused the lot. He lingered on the last two, a faint smile making a brief appearance.

 **Bren. Procured position at Spanish Embassy to Arendelle. They suspect nothing.**

 **Thom. Established as farrier's apprentice at royal stable.**

 _Well, well, well. Already two pieces in place._ He gathered up the messages and carefully fed them into a small stove near his desk. _Now we shall see what more may be learned of this Avatar of Winter._

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Guard Captain's Office, Wednesday 16 February 1842, 2:30pm_

Jørgen Fjelstad stared at the man standing in front of his desk, bracketed by two guards, for several seconds, considering his request. "Why did you not bring a Letter of Introduction?"

"My apologies, good sir." The conversation was being conducted in halting French, since Jørgen spoke English quite poorly, and this American spoke not a word of Norwegian. "The Secretary of State felt that … time was … um …" He searched for words. "There is conflict in our government. The President does not … agree? Yes, agree with the Whigs on tariffs, and he is … um … not 'forced' … um … compelled? Um … they wish for him to sign a tariff. It would raise duties on goods from Europe."

"What difference would that make? Arendelle has no official trade with the United States."

"Yes! That is the real. Ah … the … truth? Yes. You say the truth."

"Then why would we care about your tariff?"

"If we States can get treaties … a treaty? Um … treaties are over tariffs."

Jørgen picked the meaning out of his statement. "Ah. So, you wish to _begin_ trade."

"Yes!" He brightened noticeably. Jørgen looked back down at the man's papers. "John Smith. That name sounds Avalonian."

"We began for as colonies to Avalon, so this is not to not surprise. My grandfather has … he was … he came from Avalon."

"Hmm." The Captain tapped a finger on the side of his inkwell a few times. "What kind of treaty do you desire?"

"We are … we have some different. In my trunk."

"… More than one?"

"Yes." Mr. Smith seemed relieved to be able to answer that question in one word.

"Such as?"

"For trade. For mutual support. For non-aggression." He had practiced that part.

"I doubt you will get all that."

"No. Likely surprise not. But I must try."

"Very well. I shall arrange something for you." He nodded to the guards. "Meanwhile, I would prefer that you stay here. Someone will go after your effects."

. . .

 _4:30pm_

Elsa was deeply involved in a chess game with Sofia when Jørgen knocked on her door. It took her a second to refocus. "Yes? Captain? What is it?"

"Your Majesty. Countess," he said, offering a quick bow to each. "I have a rather strange gentleman who would like to speak with you."

"Strange? In what way?"

"Well, for one, he's an American."

A frown briefly got comfortable between her eyes before she composed her features. "What does he want?"

"He wants to discuss possible treaties."

"Treaties! They don't even have a single _diplomat_ here! Why would I want to sign a treaty with people who don't even do us the courtesy of …" She held up a hand; gathered her thoughts. "Well. Obviously, given that you are here, he must have had reasons you felt sufficient. Does he at least have a Letter of Introduction?"

"I'm afraid not, Majesty."

Sofia smirked. "They are like that with Spain. A rough and unpolished lot, most of them. They broke away from what they call the 'Old World', and threw away normal conventions of decency at one go."

Elsa eyed the brunette. "Are you suggesting I simply turn him down?"

"Oh, no. Truthfully, I'm interested in what he has to say. It could be highly entertaining. They have such peculiar views on some things."

Hiding a smirk, Elsa turned back to Jørgen. "There is an opening in my schedule tomorrow at eleven. I will speak with him then."

"Very good, Majesty. I will inform Kai."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's Receiving Chamber, Thursday 17 February 1842, 11:00am_

Standing before Arendelle's Queen, John Smith had never been so flustered in his life. Nor as frightened. Nor as far from home. Nor as unprepared. Nor as utterly, finally, absolutely _blown away_ by an overabundance of feminine pulchritude.

The Secretary of State, Daniel Webster, had given John as much information as he had on Arendelle and its magic-wielding ruler. Prior to being handed this 'plum' assignment, John had never given the existence of magic more than a passing (scoffing) thought. As did his entire circle of family and friends, John had believed all hocus-pocus to be the exclusive realm of the ignorant and the superstitious, and had passed off rumors of the Scandinavian Queen as just that. But Webster, who was as logical and upright and staid a man as ever lived, insisted the rumors were at least _based_ in fact. Arendelle's monarch could fabricate ice at will, and was understood now as a force to be reckoned with, despite her kingdom's tiny size. The United States had few enough real allies; most of the European states, centuries older than the fledgling Republic, were simply waiting around for them to fall apart.

John had made up his mind to be open to the idea, though he felt in his heart that Webster had been bamboozled. However, upon reaching the inlet to the fjord, his heart practically stopped when he caught sight of the two colossal statues standing guard there. An old seaman came up to him then, and chuckled. John asked, "What … are they?"

"That'd be the late King Agdar and his good Queen, Idunn."

The closer the ship came, the more unbelievable the constructs seemed. They had to be a hundred fathoms tall! More! "When … how … uh … what kind of stone is that? Why are they … are they _glowing?"_

"Oh, it's not stone. It's ice."

John was having trouble wrapping his mind around this. "Ice."

"Aye."

"I don't understand."

"What's not to understand?"

"Why … When … How long have they been there? And why build them at all? They'll melt when the weather warms up!"

"Heh. Never seen Her Majesty's ice before, eh?"

Turning to stare at the man, John finally breathed, "What?"

"If she don't want her ice t' melt, it don't melt."

"… _Her_ ice."

"Aye."

"… _What_ are you _talking_ about?"

"She's the Snow Queen, ain't she? She made them monuments t' honor her parents. Done a right fine job, too. Looks just like 'em."

"Are you going to stand there and tell me, and expect me to believe, that Queen Elsa _made_ those?"

"Aye. Why wouldn't ye believe it? Ye know she froze the whole land at her coronation. Thawed it, too. She made them statues in two days' time."

John turned his gaze back to the immense figures looming over the ship, and the thought going around and around in his head was, _What have I gotten myself into?_

And now, here he was, standing in front of the person whose power was, as far as he was now concerned, incalculable, and rather than any sort of nasty-witchy-old-crone-type, she was … she was …

His brain refused to absorb it all.

 _That amazing braid of hair!_

 _That sumptuous length of leg!_

 _Those bare, unblemished shoulders!_

 _That skin-tight fabric!_

Elsa sat at ease on an intricate throne of ice, clothed (if one wished to couch it in that term) in a dress that would fling scandal from Boston to Savannah, and redefining by the second his concept of beauty. He'd met a number of pretty girls in his day, and his fiancée, Harriet, was accounted among the more attractive in New York. They all faded to background noise beside Queen Elsa.

And as if that weren't enough, she was flanked by two other women nearly as gorgeous as she was. He'd heard their names, Anna and Sofia, during introductions, but couldn't recall anything else. Thank _God_ , they were dressed more appropriately!

Anna appraised him coolly, reserving judgment.

Sofia gave him a keener eye, obviously taking his measure.

Elsa seemed more amused than anything else. She said, "You had something to say, Mr. Smith?"

"Yes!" He jerked, surprised that she spoke English. "Your Majesty!"

"You managed to convince my Guard Captain of the necessity of this meeting, but you have yet to present Us with anything that might demonstrate that."

"I'm … I'm sorry. Your Majesty." _Majesty! Such a poor, weak word!_ "I have … I was sent, ah, to, ah, discuss … to discuss … a treaty. Treaties. With the United States." He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. _Someone please just shoot me._

Elsa fought down a giggle. She'd been following his surface thoughts, looking for falsehood, but found only confusion and embarrassment, surprise and disbelief. "Perhaps, Mr. Smith, you should let Us examine these proposals to see if We find any merit in them."

"Oh! Yes, of course." He fumbled with the latch on his satchel, but undid the wrong buckle. It fell to the floor, spilling several rolls of parchment across the marble, pulling amused titters from both Sofia and Anna. Rubbing his forehead in ultimate chagrin, John knelt and gathered them up.

Elsa gave a silent nod to one of her Guard, who walked over and got the documents and took them to the throne.

John was trembling badly by that point, and Elsa had pity on him. "Mr. Smith, We will read through these papers and give you Our answer in two days. In the interim, We have assigned you a room in the palace."

He blinked at her. "The palace? But … I thought I would …"

"Tut. You speak no Norwegian, and English is little-known in the city. It is for our convenience that you will stay here."

"Oh. Okay. That … makes sense."

Raising a perfect eyebrow, Elsa responded, "Thank you. We thought so." She signaled a Guard, who escorted the furiously-blushing man out and pulled the doors closed.

No more than one breath passed before all three women burst out laughing, Sofia hiding hers behind her fan while Anna slapped her knees in mirth. "Did you _see_ him? Did you _see_ how bad off he was?"

Sofia commented, "Perhaps they don't have women in the States? One would get that impression from his reactions." Pointing at Elsa, she added, "I'm _quite_ sure he would do absolutely _anything_ you asked of him. Gladly. Cheerfully."

Elsa nodded in laughing agreement. "You may have a point." Quickly calming herself down, she opened the treaty proposals and scanned through them. A frown shortly grew in response.

"Something wrong, El?"

It was a few seconds before she gave a noncommittal shrug. "I'm not fond of their terms, at first blush." She rolled them back up and stared off at nothing for a moment. "I believe I would like to have Dankert and Mikael look these over. Also Geert and Kurt." She motioned for a Guard to come over, and spoke to him in low tones for a minute. He nodded and left.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Saturday 19 February 1842, 9:00am_

The first thing John Smith noticed when he was ushered into the Council Chamber was that none of the others present wore a smile. Plus, several of them were staring at him, if not in open hostility, then certainly not in friendship.

Almost simultaneously, he saw that the Queen's Chair was empty, and his heart sank.

The previous two days, he had spent in the study (as much as he could) of Arendelle's history. Queen Elsa had located a member of her staff who spoke tolerable English (a tinsmith named Ole, whose mother had spent her youth in Avalon), and assigned him to their visitor. Apart from supplying Mr. Smith with necessary foodstuffs, his time was taken up almost fully with translating various records from the kingdom's recent past. Mr. Smith, for his part, found himself impressed with the levels of freedom afforded the citizens, and the lack of participation in war over the previous century; and unsettled by certain of their laws, most notably that the _concept_ of slavery was not recognized in Arendelle, and anyone – anyone, from anywhere – who escaped from such bonds would find this kingdom a haven of refuge. Having nearly memorized the content of the three treaty proposals, he had a pretty good idea of how the Queen would respond.

He wasn't wrong.

Geert Lundgren, as Elder of the Council, called the meeting to order. "The first item on the agenda is the discussion of the treaty proposals from the United States of America."

Ole translated for Mr. Smith as they went along.

Making sure he had the American's complete attention, he proceeded, "Thirty-nine years ago, Denmark-Norway became the first major European state to ban the slave trade."

John's spirit flagged even lower. He knew what was coming.

"Since then, most of the other great powers have followed suit. Those who haven't made it official didn't have anything to do with it in the first place." He waited while Ole converted that into English. "You may not be aware of this, but Arendelle preceded them all, declaring slavery anathema in 1601, and offering sanctuary to any and all who escaped the cruel collar."

"Yes," answered Mr. Smith. "I discovered this in my reading yesterday."

Geert listened to the translation, then motioned to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Kurt Magnussen turned to the American and stated, "There is nothing in your treaties to oppose slavery. Why would you think Arendelle would welcome that?"

Clearing his throat, John managed, "The slave trade was outlawed from 1808 in the US."

"Indeed. But your population of African slaves is self-sustaining." He leaned forward, his gaze drilling holes in the young man. "There are _twenty times_ as many slaves in your so-called free country as there are _citizens_ in all of Arendelle. Whether you aim to acquire more of these poor souls in open trade is not the issue. There are more than a million innocents _born_ as slaves every year in the United States. They are not considered people under your law, and have no rights of their own. What sort of life do you think that is? Miserable and brutal … and short." Resting back against his chair, Kurt steepled his fingers and tapped his thumbs against his chin.

Mr. Smith had feared that he would never make any headway against this philosophy. "Is there nothing that we can do to forge any sort of alliance? Any at all?"

Kurt nodded to one of the pages, who walked up to John and gave him a satchel. "We have taken the liberty of writing up our own treaty in counterpoint to what you brought us. Take this to your President. If he is willing to sign it, we may be able to go forward from there. If not, there truly is no point in continuing such talks."

John held the satchel for a moment, and heaved a long sigh. Bowing to the assembly, he said, "I bid you a good day. I will take this to Mr. Webster as soon as ever I may. He will be favorably disposed to your position, and may be able to persuade the President."

He was on a boat headed back toward America two days later.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsa's study, Wednesday 23 February 1842, 9:00am_

Anna peeked into the room. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Come in, please, and close the door."

Once seated, Anna gave her sister an expectant look.

Clearing her throat, the Queen began, "You may recall the late unpleasantness with France's ex-Foreign Minister, yes?"

"Ha. Like I could ever forget it."

Elsa pushed a parchment across her desk toward Anna. The redhead scooped it up and spent a minute reading through it, accompanied by a smirk, then a raised eyebrow, then a frown, then a tiny gasp, and finally a satisfied nod. "Well, okay, then. Thiers is toast, looks like."

"That was the plan."

"And His Royal Snootiness wants to make amends."

"As far as I can tell."

Anna contemplated the Queen for a bit. "Are you implying that you need my permission for this? They want to send a _real_ diplomatic contingent, apologize for our trouble, and try to build good relations. Why would I mind?"

"I didn't think you would. But if you did have objections, I wanted you to be aware, so we could talk it through and come to a mutually acceptable solution. Just in case."

"Well, I appreciate that." She reached over and took Elsa's hand. "I'm over it, though. Thiers's men never treated me badly, really. I've heard lots worse." Snorting a little, she added, "Been _through_ lots worse, if you take Fat-Head-Former-Prince-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named into account."

"I know, and I didn't want this to upset you." She gave Anna's fingers a fond squeeze. "Didn't want for you to have any lingering doubts or worries or … you know. Bad associations."

"Nah. I'm curious to see what the King considers a competent Ambassador."

"So am I."

"And he said … what'd he say?" She picked up the parchment again. "Okay. 'Early March'. So, two or three weeks, probably."

"Yes."

"And they're leaving it to us to pick out a building and name a price for it."

"Yes."

"Thoughtful."

"Indeed."

Anna nodded. "Yeah, this could work." She tapped a fist against her chin. "Tell you what, though. If anything starts to smell even a _little_ bit fishy, we ought to send them packing … _before_ things have a chance to go totally sideways."

"My thoughts, exactly."

"Hey!" The Princess bounced a little on her seat. "Can I pick out the house?"

"I was intending to tap you for that job."

"Wheee! Okay, then!" She jumped up and ran out, leaving her bemused sister in her wake. Four seconds later, she stuck her head back in the door. "Sorry, Elsa, was that everything?"

"Yes, silly." She waggled her fingers at Anna. "Go and do."

"Thanks! See you at lunch!" And she was gone.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _A horse trail near Arendelle Castle, Thursday 24 February 1842, 2:00pm_

The Princess and the Countess weren't precisely racing, nor were their horses precisely galloping, but each kept cutting the other off, then flashing a triumphant grin. Since the trail narrowed in a lot of places to single-lane traffic, the jockeying occurred in frenzied spurts. By the time they reached the high meadow, both women were fighting constant bouts of giggles, and it took Sofia several moments before she assimilated what she was seeing. Then she stopped and gaped.

Anna sidled her horse up beside Sofia's. "Pretty, isn't it?"

Staring in rapt wonder at the frozen waterfall, she breathed, "I … didn't know they could do that."

"Yep. All natural, too. Elsa didn't help it along at all."

They spent twenty minutes or so walking their horses around, getting them cooled down slowly, talking of inconsequential things. Anna had learned a few days ago of Sofia's intention to marry Dankert Knutsen (and was still getting used to the idea of marrying for friendship), and they turned over several possible scenarios, each more ridiculous than the last.

"Hey, hey!" gasped Anna around a laugh, "how about hanging a sign from the ceiling outside his door?"

"What, so he sees it when he steps out?"

"So it whacks him in the head! He might get the hint if it hurts enough." She rubbed her horse's nose. "Kristoff was _**sooooo**_ dense. Or stubborn. He's never admitted to either, so I can't tell. I all but drew him a picture, and still Elsa had to practically pull him into the question by his nose."

"I guess men are thick everywhere."

"Too true."

"Oh, hey, Anna, I've been meaning to ask …"

"What?"

"Could I impose upon you to do a little sparring with me?"

The Princess got a guarded look about her. "Sparring?"

"Yes. I practice a bit with Emilio and Tomás, but neither one is all that accomplished, and I was hoping you might have some moves I haven't seen before."

"Spar? With … swords?"

"Specifically, in my case, a rapier. But, yes."

Anna's mind sped up. What was Sofia getting at? How could she know? She'd been so careful. "What makes you think I could do something like that?"

Sofia gave her a confused frown for a moment … then her eyes widened in shock. "Oh! Um … was it supposed to be a secret?"

"… uh …"

"I'm sorry! I didn't … damn. I beg your pardon, Anna. I've presumed too much."

"No-no-no. We aren't going to just drop this." Facing Sofia fully, she crossed her arms and asked, "Why do you think I know how to fence?"

"… Your calluses."

"… What?"

"You've got …" The brunette gestured toward Anna's mittened hands. "… see, anyone who spends enough time wielding a sword develops calluses in certain places. Along the inside of the thumb or over the first knuckle. Other places, depending on what weapon you use and how you are taught. Since you had such calluses, I assumed … I'm sorry. Please forgive me if I've over-stepped …"

Anna held up a hand, stilling her companion. "No, Sofia, you haven't done anything wrong. I guess I haven't been as, um, sharp as I'd thought. I didn't know about that, about how sword practice would affect my skin." She frowned in contemplation. "I wonder who else has figured it out?"

"So, it was a secret?"

"Not much of one, looks like."

"Again, I beg your pardon for that. I didn't know." A few seconds ticked by in a strained silence. "Why would you want to keep that hidden?"

"Elsa's idea, sort of. See, I'd been practicing with Captain Jørgen and two of the Sergeants, but I hadn't told Elsa because I thought she'd be afraid I'd hurt myself, but then when we figured out about my …" With a startled look, Anna trailed off. "Um … yeah. Anyway, Elsa told me she knew about it, and encouraged me to keep it up, as a sort of secret surprise for anyone who came after me. And I've been training with those few of the Guard, where no one could see." She gave her hand a rueful stare. "Never crossed my mind there'd be other ways to tell."

"I won't tell anyone!"

"I know you won't." Anna took Sofia's hands in hers. "You're a good person, Sofia. I trust you with a lot already. One more detail isn't going to hurt anything."

"Oh. Okay. So, then … would you mind if I joined you? Maybe I could learn a thing or two from your instructors."

"Sure! I think that would be fun."

"Thank you!"

"Don't mention it." She looked up at the sun. "We'd better head back. The horses have rested enough by now."

"Maybe no race this time?"

"We weren't racing before."

Sofia grinned, climbing up on her mount's back. "Right. Of course not."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _8:00pm_

Tomás parked his quill in the sponge beside the inkwell, sprinkled blotting sand over the fresh parchment, waited a moment, picked it up and dumped the result into a small waste basket. Then he rested back in his chair and read over it one final time.

 _Don Fernández-Espartero y Alvarez de Toro –_

 _Greetings. I received your letter of the 4_ _rth_ _, and wish to explain myself more fully._

 _You worried that Arendelle would reject our offer of alliance. Allow me to assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. Eduardo and Gerardo have been working with de la Maria and two of the Queen's Council on an additional trade agreement. Sofia has gotten astonishingly close with the Royal Family, especially Princess Anna. The Princess was the one who suggested that Sofia approach the Queen about a military alliance. According to the Countess, that effort is progressing quite satisfactorily. You were wiser than you knew to include her with our delegation._

 _As you know, Arendelle has no standing Army. They field about two thousand Marines, but those are primarily employed in their Navy. Still, they do an excellent job of patrolling the northern shipping lanes to discourage privateers. Given what we know of the Queen's powers (and I would desire that you could see examples for yourself, to understand I am not exaggerating) if she felt compelled to aid an ally, our enemies would fail. I am as sure of that as the sunrise._

 _You had expressed hesitation about a nominally Lutheran kingdom being on such good terms with one that is officially Catholic. Believe me when I say there are no qualms from that quarter. Sir, I truly wish you could experience the spiritual climate here in Arendelle. I don't think I have ever felt as comfortable anywhere else. And if I could aspire to be_ _half_ _the Christian Queen Elsa is, I would count myself sure of Heaven._

 _In sum, I would assure you that our alliance is progressing with a speed and quality that even I find amazing. I only pray that Spain and Arendelle can maintain such cordial relations for generations to come. God has, without doubt, blessed our efforts._

He placed it back on the blotter, affixed a golden ribbon in place with a quick runnel of hot wax, and pressed his seal into it before signing his name along the bottom. Slipping it carefully into a waxed leather pouch, he then placed that into a small chest. It would head south toward Madrid with the next morning's tide.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Rettenbach, Germany – Saturday 26 February 1842, 9:30pm_

A chorus of low whistling announced the presence of cracks around the few windows, and clearly indicated why no one would sit near any of them. Tiny streams of gelid air were in no way discouraged by the flames dancing over the large pile of logs in the fireplace. Occasional sprays of sleet-dosed rain _tacketed_ in accompaniment against the dirty panes of cracked glass.

This atmospheric misery could best be described as abysmal. But then, that was what winter was like here, and the locals knew it. Given the subject under discussion tonight, though, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It meant that practically everyone would be staying home, close to a fire. Indeed, apart from the proprietor at the far end of the room and one old man sleeping at a table by the hearth, the three conspirators had this smoky, dilapidated tavern all to themselves.

Two of the men were various shades of blond; the other had a more Mediterranean complexion, with dark brown hair and eyes, and it was he who had done most of the talking. At length, there was a pause in his narrative.

The bigger of the two blonds leaned his elbows on the table, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them. "Your proposal is intriguing. However, the timeline is highly compressed. Why is that?"

"I don't question my master's motives or his methods," he answered, his Sicilian accent noticeable. "That approach does not lend itself to a lengthened life. He simply needs it done before the end of next month. Can you do it?"

"You still haven't said why you came to us."

"I got a recommendation."

"From whom?"

"Someone who is no longer in any condition to talk about it."

Two pairs of light eyes narrowed at him. The smaller blond said, "Threats against _us_ aren't likely to lengthen your life, either."

The dark man shook his head. "Not a threat. He met with an accident. None of my doing."

"Then giving us his name won't hurt him, will it?"

The pause was brief. "Albert Ormfelden."

"Hmm. Yes, we worked with him. Shoddy sort. What was the nature of this 'accident'?"

"He accidentally failed to pay a rather large debt he owed to someone with no sense of humor."

"Ah. That does lead to accidents."

"Back to my question: Can you do it?"

"Probably."

"You'll have to do better than 'probably'. My master pays well, but he insists on results. He's been stung before, and such wasted effort is irritating."

The two northern men looked at each other. The smaller one nodded. The bigger one turned back to the dark man. "We can do it. We will need half the money up front."

"I anticipated that you would."

"Do you have it with you?"

"Ha. Do I look like a fool? I wouldn't carry three _coppers_ in this blighted excuse for a village. Not by myself."

"Where, then?"

"Come to Regensburg in two days. I'll be at the Green Shield."

The two men rose and wrapped their cloaks around them before heading out into the driving wind.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _Only a few more pieces to place on the board, and the games may begin in earnest._**

 ** _All comments welcome!_**


	15. Unpleasantries

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **I beg your indulgence for taking so long with this update. Real Life intrudes.**_

 _ **It's been my observation that humans, given the opportunity (and small chance of detection) will usually choose the evil-and-easy over the good-but-difficult. Toss something of value into the mix, and it's almost a surety. Factoring in personal hubris removes all doubt.**_

 _ **Let's see what mischief they've been up to, shall we?**_

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen: Unpleasantries**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle's Southern Border – Tuesday 01 March 1842, 10:20am_

"More tea, Your Grace?"

"Thank you, no," answered Christina Maria, the deposed Queen Regent of Spain.

Arendelle's Dowager Consort, Countess Liesel of Schwaben, set her own cup down and primly crossed her hands in her lap. "I must say I do appreciate your stopping by. One gets so few visitors anymore."

Christina studied the woman. Though past forty, she still had smooth skin and an unblemished eye, her dark hair lustrous, and her figure slim. With a twinge of envy, the ex-Royal felt she would have to learn her secret. _Ah, well, I will have to handle that at a later date._ At present, she had a job to do, and that comment gave her a good starting point. "I would think that Your Highness would be able to find diversion in the capitol."

"Ha. As if. I have as little to do with Agdar's brat as possible."

"Indeed?" Christina successfully repressed a grin. "Then you and the Queen don't get on well?"

"Queen." The word seemed to leave a bad taste in her mouth. "That freak no more deserves to be Queen than would a base-born thief."

"Goodness! I had no idea you felt that way," lied Christina. "So, you never visit?"

Her light green eyes hard, the Countess spat, "Under no circumstances."

"I don't understand. Is Queen Elsa all that stands between you and staying at the palace? I would think that would be your right as King Raimond's widow. Does she not approve?"

"Oh, she's subtle about it. Even deferential, on occasion. But I can see through her and her snide remarks, her honey-coated smile, her flowery invitations. She wants my support, wants me to back her up so the people won't think about what a monster she truly is. I'll have none of it!"

"Oh, dear. That's too bad. But do you not have apartments-"

"I wouldn't give her the satisfaction."

"My word. This _is_ a sad situation."

Liesel stared off out the wide window, saying nothing.

"May I ask a question?"

Turning her gaze back to her visitor, the Countess sighed heavily and said, "Of course."

"Do you think Arendelle would be better off without her as Queen?"

"I do." There was no hesitation whatsoever in her response.

"Hmm. Well … are you aware of the rumors of war looming?"

"Rumors is all they are, and all they will remain. No one has the fortitude to challenge her. Did you not hear what she did with a fleet of pirates? No, she has the kingdom in her icy grip, and I doubt anyone can pry it free."

Christina tapped a finger lightly against the back of her other hand. "Suppose there was a way."

Liesel blinked at her, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"Well … and this is only hypothetical, you understand … what if there were someone who had the ability to counter her magic and the will to do so?"

"A nice dream. But there isn't." She frowned harder, a tiny hope growing. "Is there?"

"As you know, I took up residence in Paris after that odious General usurped my throne."

"… Yes?"

"I had a number of visitors come by, seeking my advice or aid, and among them was the leader of a faction that feels just as you do."

"Oh?"

"Yes. And he confided in me that he had happened across just such a device. He was considering how best to position himself to use it, but apart from the Queen's magic, there is also her Guard to consider, and he-"

"What does he need?"

"… I beg your pardon?"

"Whatever his plan, I'm in. If it will get the brat off the throne of Arendelle, I will help in any way I can."

"Truly?"

"Absolutely."

 _All too easy._ "It seems to have been most serendipitous that I happened by your estate today. I'm sure he will be glad of your aid."

"He can use my estate as a staging ground. I know the area between here and the capitol …"

Christina Maria let her ramble, silently congratulating herself.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Schwaig, Germany – Friday 04 March 1842, 6:10pm_

The fat man looked around in distaste. "An interesting place you chose for our meeting."

With a quick glance up and down the refuse-strewn alley, the small, dark agent shrugged and responded, "It is untraveled and close. No windows nearby. No one can sneak up on us."

Shrewd gray eyes that might have been attractive had they not been nearly hidden in rolls of thickly padded skin focused on the visitor. "Very well. It's every bit as important to me to keep my business secret as yours is to you." He leaned forward eagerly. "Do you have the patents?"

The other drew an oilskin packet from within his coat, shivering slightly as the damp and cold penetrated briefly, and passed them to the fat man. "As agreed. Are your men ready?"

"I have eleven gathered. Four to go, but I've chosen them already. It's only a matter of negotiating payment."

"And the first week of June will not be a problem?"

"Not a bit of it." He chuckled, flipping slowly through the papers in the packet. "Yes, this will do _quite_ nicely." He replaced them and tied the packet back up. "I wasn't sure you could deliver these. How many throats did you have to slit?"

"That, to be frank, isn't something you need to know."

"Humph. Suit yourself."

"I must meet with your team on Tuesday to go over the details of how to use the artifact."

"Shouldn't be a problem. I'll arrange a secret place and send you word by the Sabbath."

"See that you do." The dark man pulled his hat lower over his face and melted into the night.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle – Monday 07 March 1842, 10:00am_

 _This_ , thought Elsa, _is more like it._

She glanced up at the liveried courier standing at attention some paces away, then back at the three highly-illuminated sheets of parchment in her hand. The introduction carried on for several hundred flowery words, describing in some detail the personage of the Ambassador from the French King's Court, what he intended to accomplish, and how he could be of use to the Crown of Arendelle.

The Ambassador's herald was a cool customer, careful in his presentation and bearing. His bows were perfect, his tongue glib, his manner impeccable. _If this is only the herald, the Ambassador must be a paragon of civility. I'm quite looking forward to getting to know the man._ Turning her attention back to the visitor, Elsa pronounced, "We shall take pleasure in meeting with Ambassador Guillaume in the Formal Receiving Chamber this afternoon at three o'clock."

Bowing again, the herald answered, "I shall make the arrangements, Your Majesty." He took two absolutely correct steps backward before turning and striding out of the room at a stately pace.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _5:00pm_

Elsa didn't precisely _storm_ into the Family Dining Room, but no one who caught sight of her face had any desire to warrant her attention.

Anna, just to her right, ground her teeth in suppressed irritation. They stopped beside their respective chairs, both working to get their breathing under control

Carlos came in at a slightly more normal stride, though his fingers twitched in the direction of his hidden blades. He came up and stood to Elsa's left, laid a tentative hand on her waist, and asked, "Do you suppose this is some sort of elaborate joke?"

"If so, then _someone's_ sense of humor must have met a messy and unforgiving demise."

Anna sputtered, "Who thought … whoever had the gall to think that … that simpering _lickspittle_ had the makings of an Ambassador ought to have his head examined!"

Elsa's lips quirked. "Lickspittle? I didn't realize you knew how that word was used."

The redhead waved her off. "Read it in one of my romances."

"Yes, well. The phrase 'rancid peacock' had been flitting through my head."

 _ **[[ Most of your phrasing was a great deal less restrained than that, Dear. ]]**_

 _[[ You have your version; I have mine. ]]_

Carlos hid a chuckle.

"Okay, then," huffed Anna, as she jerked her chair out and flopped down. "What are we gonna do about him?"

"No meetings in closed rooms," replied the Queen. "That's sure."

"Ugh." Wrinkling her nose, Anna asked, "Do you think he's ever had a bath? Like … ever?"

"Not in many a year. Kristoff didn't smell anything _approaching_ that bad when I first met him. And he bathed … was it once a year?"

"Twice. Plus a few other times, if things happened to get really icky."

"… Do I want to know what you mean by 'icky'?"

"… Eh. I didn't."

"Uh-huh. I will stay blissfully ignorant, if you please."

"No problem."

Carlos opined, "I've been around old _goats_ that smelled ten times better than he did. Do you think we might be able to shift off any meetings with him to your Minister of Foreign Affairs?"

"I … hmm." Elsa tapped her chin with a finger. "Maybe some of it. I'd not wish that duty on an enemy, much less a good friend."

"Hey!" piped up Anna, "maybe you can hold the meetings outside!"

"Not a bad idea, Sis! I like it."

"And you could call up a breeze. Keep yourself upwind."

"Ha! Better and better. And that might blow away his oily words as well."

Anna asked, "Do you think he really believes all his … his stupid _flattery_ makes a … I dunno, makes a positive impression?"

"It's hard to tell. His mind is … cluttered. Chaotic. And devious. A couple of times – well, more than a couple – it felt like he was lying, but only a little. It's hard to describe. As if it's a lie, but it's a lie he believes, even knowing it's a lie."

"Weird."

"Maybe not so weird for a career politician."

"Maybe," offered Carlos, "if he knows what's in store, he won't want to come to the meetings at all."

"You may imagine my dismay," Elsa deadpanned. She took her seat, whereupon Carlos followed. After a quarter-minute of thoughtful silence, she continued, "Going over it dispassionately, there has to be some end game involved here. Something we aren't picking up on."

Anna reached over and snagged one of the hard rolls from the bowl in the table's center. "Maybe King Louis is trying out a veiled insult." She took a bite and chewed with vigor.

"That hardly seems likely. I think it far more probable that someone in the King's administration pulled a fast one. Perhaps Louis Philippe never met Guillaume in person?"

"Could be," Carlos allowed, mimicking Anna's snitch of a roll. After the first bite went down, he got up and tapped a glass of small beer from a keg on the sideboard. "Dear One, would you like a bit of wine?"

Glancing over, she asked, "Is there _akvavit_?"

"Heh. Got you that stressed, did he?"

"From a number of directions."

"I don't see a bottle here anywhere."

She sighed. "Sure. Some dry red if you've got it."

After a short search, he shrugged and offered, "We could have some sent up from-"

Waving that off irritably, she demurred. "Never mind. I'll wait until dinner."

Anna nodded. "That won't be long."

Elsa considered her words, then picked up a small bell and gave it a couple of hard shakes.

Presently, one of the servants attached to the kitchen came in and bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"We may start dinner whenever the food is ready."

"Ah. Very good, Your Majesty."

"And please have a bottle of the anise-seed _akvavit_ sent up with it."

"It will be my pleasure, Your Majesty." He bowed again and left.

Rubbing her forehead with both palms, Elsa muttered, "I can understand why so many people who get involved with politics end up becoming alcoholics."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "We'd break off all diplomatic ties with France before I let that happen."

"Oh, I know. That was in no way serious. I mean, can you imagine the Snow Queen on a drunken rampage? We'd make lots of friends _that_ way."

"Good point."

The access door for the kitchen opened, and two servants came out, followed by a loaded-down wheeled cart. "Your Majesty," said one of them, "you were Providentially unhindered. The last dish came out just as we arrived in the kitchen. It only had to be plated."

"Good!"

"And here is the _akvavit_ you requested." He set a bottle on the table near her place.

"Perfect."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The French Ambassadorial Delegation – 9:00pm_

Three hard knocks sounded on the heavy wooden door.

"Come."

The Herald stepped in and stood beside the door, breathing shallowly through his mouth. "You needed to see me, My Lord?" His eyes didn't quite water.

Guillaume's nose was buried in his snifter of brandy. "I have a letter for Viscount Panettiere." He pointed to a thickly-wrapped package on a small table near the door.

The Herald picked it up and tucked it snugly under one arm. "Will that be all, My Lord?"

Guillaume waved him off, then sat staring into the fire for many a long minute. Eventually, he heaved his bulk to an upright position and waddled across the room. Rummaging briefly through his personal effects brought to light a large roll of gauze and a pair of bottles, one brown and one green.

He unrolled a short length of gauze and cut off two pieces. These he rolled up tightly, then placed a drop of liquid from the green bottle on one end of each, carrying them over to his bed while waving them around a bit. The heavy scent of perfume quickly filled the room. In passing, he noted the night through the window. The sky had been overcast all day, so he couldn't see the wisps of fog that floated everywhere, or the cold rain that was beginning to spit. _This damned place. It's been pitch black for two hours. Nothing to do, no refined entertainment, no theater, no symphony. For fun, they get drunk and hit each other._ He shook his head ruefully, his various schemes, and the sacrifices he would have to make, running through his mind. It was going to be a long few months. Maybe he could import a string quartet.

Carefully, he threaded the tiny rolls of gauze into slots in a thin leather strap, then tied that around his head so they rested under his nose. It was the only way he could mask his own stench in a manner sufficient to allow him to sleep. During the day, he could drench himself in the stuff, but it would be too dangerous to do that of a night.

He then dribbled three drops from the brown bottle into the remainder of his brandy, and quaffed it. The light dose of laudanum would quickly rob him of consciousness, for which he muttered a sullen thanks.

His last coherent thought as he rolled over in bed was, _This job had better be worth it._

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Spanish Embassy – Saturday 12 March 1842, 1:00pm_

Emilio stuck his head in the door to the parlor, spotting Sofia immediately and catching her eye.

Arching a delicate brow at his wide grin, she asked, "Something I can do for you?"

"Ha. Not _me_ , perhaps."

She fought off an answering grin. "Another one?"

"Another one."

She arose and glided out to the entrance foyer, where stood a liveried messenger holding a slim vase graced by a twined pair of roses, one bright white, one deepest red. Upon catching sight of it, a happy smile graced her lips.

The man bowed and said, "With Lord Knutsen's compliments."

"Of course." She took the vase in one hand; the man bowed again and left.

Tomás came in at that point, and hooted at her. "Joined! He's getting serious."

"He's _been_ serious, Tomás. I've been expecting this."

The first rose he sent her, on Monday, was lavender: love at first sight. (As if she'd had any doubt.)

Tuesday's rose had been white: charm and purity.

Wednesday's was pink, evoking grace and admiration.

Thursday's rose was the orange of desire.

The day before, he'd sent one of pure red, the symbol of true love.

All of them had been accompanied by a card that read, simply, 'Yours always, Dankert'.

Today's card, though, had a longer message. Her lips quirked while reading it.

Emilio hadn't stopped grinning. "What's it say?"

She murmured, "So formal."

"What?"

"It seems I am invited to dinner at his estate. Well, his father's estate."

"When?"

"Tuesday night."

"Are you going?"

"I believe I shall."

"He's going to ask you to marry him, you know."

"Not having been unconscious for the past few weeks, Emilio, I am aware of that fact."

Tomás clucked his tongue. "Let him down gently."

"Trust me. I will be _more_ than gentle."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Weselton Ducal Castle – Wednesday 16 March 1842, noon_

"Matchmont!"

A rotund bald man of middle years appeared instantly at the door. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The Duke of Weselton jerkily waved a roll of parchment as he paced randomly around the room. "Get me Stack! I want him here yesterday!"

"At once, Your Grace."

The pacing never slowed over the next eight minutes until Lord Marshal Alexander Stack, General of the Army and leader of his military forces, arrived. Though the taller man's uniform consisted only of a daily-dress set in cream and blue, it was immaculately starched. He clicked his heels, gave the slightest of abbreviated bows, and intoned, "You wished to see me, Your-"

"Read this!" The parchment slapped against the Marshal's chest.

Two and a half minutes later, he glanced up at the Duke, back at the parchment, back at the Duke … and gave a low whistle.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I would have given Thiers credit for more intelligence than that."

"Don't you see? Don't you _see?_ It's all lies! _Damned_ lies! She's spreading confusion, trying to make sure no one opposes her!" He poked at the parchment. Hard. "Trying to cast _us_ in a bad light!"

Stack scanned the document again. "She doesn't mention Weselton anywhere."

"It's the principle of the thing!"

A slowly-raised eyebrow answered that.

"You _don't_ see." Throwing his hands up in disgust, the Duke turned away, stomped over to his desk, and poured himself three fingers of a well-aged Islay single-malt scotch. He downed it at a go and refilled the glass.

Stack tapped the missive. "You see this as a ploy."

"Of course! Thiers is much too canny to have done what she is accusing him of! I've met the man a handful of times, and if there's a cagier player in Continental politics, I never heard of him. To think he would have _kidnapped_ that ginger tart …" He tossed off his drink.

"If this is a fabrication, one would assume Queen Elsa would have been able to construct a more believable tale."

"She has no experience at the game. This outlandish pile of … of …" He ground his teeth. "That Louis Philippe accepted her story is what really galls."

"He did?"

The Duke pointed at an envelope on his desk. "This accompanied that roll of drivel. Philippe has exiled Thiers. Stripped him of his title."

Lord Stack hummed a bit at that. "He wouldn't have done so without proof."

"The King is an idiot. Also, he hates Thiers. This gambit gave him an excuse to do what he'd secretly longed to do for years. Hell, for that matter, he may have _conspired_ with the Ice Witch."

"Still, this seems rather elaborate for-"

"More proof that she has no understanding of how the game is played. That's all."

The General realized at that point that nothing he could say would make a dent in his Duke's logic (or what passed for logic) and decided that silence would be the best response.

More than a minute passed before the little man blew a long sigh and said, "We will have to stop her."

"Stop her? From doing what?"

"From getting the rest of Europa on her side."

Stack bit back his first response. Gathered his thoughts. "Your Grace, I am no fan of Arendelle's ruling house, but now is too soon for a direct assault."

The Duke didn't appear to have heard him. "Get back in touch with those Princes from the Southern Isles. We have allies of our own, strong ones. Strike in a pincer attack. Take her by surprise. Hit three or four places on her coast …"

It had been a couple of decades, Lord Stack knew, since the Duke had had anything personal to do with conducting a battle, much less a war. That's why he had Generals and Admirals and Field Marshals. Instead, he had turned his talent to perfecting his economic strategies, and greatly enriched Weselton thereby. It was his forte, and Stack felt he should stick to it.

And what was this? Jumping the gun simply because that French fop made a mistake? "Your Grace, our long-term plans call for-"

"Damn and blast the long-term plans! She'll have consolidated her position by then!"

Thinking, _We're in for it now,_ he asked, "What is your desire?"

"As I said. Contact Prince Heinrich of the Southern Isles. We will make our plans, and conduct the invasion a month from today, have no doubt!"

 _The only doubt here pertains to your sanity_ , he thought, but he merely nodded, bowed, and left.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Eastern Arendelle – Wednesday 16 March 1842, noon_

"Massimo!"

The man in the lead of the small group pulled his horse up and wheeled around. "Piero? What is it?"

For an answer, the other pointed to their left. "Looks like a cave."

"Oh, ho!" He directed his mount over toward the overhang. "Yes. This has possibilities. Maybe we won't freeze to death in this God-forsaken icebox after all." He motioned at the other four in their party, who hurried to join them.

Two of them dismounted and stepped toward the opening. Piero said, "Careful, Antonio, you don't want to end up inside a bear.

"No worries." He peered around inside, wiped at his nose with the back of his glove, and took a sniff. "Smells clean. Hey, Leo, come back me up."

A few minutes equally divided between inspection and milling around satisfied the party that the cave held no dangers. They began offloading their provisions.

"Niccolo? How far from here to the city?" asked Piero of one of the others.

The man stood, walked into the sun, and peered off West. "I make it three days. Two if you ride hard and don't care who sees you."

Piero muttered, "Well, we won't be doing that."

Massimo snapped his head around. "Careful with that!"

Bernardo, the last man to join their plot, pulled up short. "Mother o' God, Massi, I'm not gonna drop it!"

"You keep swinging it around like that and you'll make yourself a liar."

"Fine." Bernardo found a convenient spot and laid a dark, hexagonal box on the bare rock. "Not like it would hurt any of us if it did break."

"You don't know that. Why do you think we have to wear gloves to handle it?"

"Paranoia?"

"No."

Shrug. "Fine. Rules. Follow the rules. Always with the rules."

"Rules occasionally manage to keep the young and stupid from killing themselves. You should try it."

"If you say so." He eyed the box. "I, for one, can't wait to get it open and see what it does."

Massimo pointed at him. "You worry about getting a fire started. I want some lunch." Turning to Niccolo, he said, "After we've eaten, I want you to get your bearings and head to Arendelle City. The others need to know where we are."

"Will do. But I want some of that lamb first."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Near Leiden, Netherlands – Tuesday 22 March 1842, 1:15am_

No one farther away than ten paces could have heard the slow _clopclop_ of the horse's hooves over the steadily pelting rain. That held true as well for the uninterrupted stream of mumbled curses from its rider. He raised his eyes slightly as they approached a thick stand of evergreens, grimly wiped his face as well as he could, and made his way in, keeping an arm up as a shield against the sting of the needles.

Once past the outer ring of trees, a tiny clearing appeared, its center offering indifferent concealment to a rude lean-to. In the dense shadows underneath, a darker blot waited. The rider urged his mount forward, then slid heavily to the ground, stomping in under the shaky, dripping mess of vegetation.

The dark blot stood. "Colonel."

"Hst! Don't call me that!" He peered around into the gloom.

"Don't worry, Colonel. There is no one near." The other man spoke with a lilting Mediterranean accent. "For that matter, there is no one far. Only fools or those up to no good will be out tonight."

The Colonel sneered. "And which do you suppose I am?"

"I would leave that to your sage judgment."

"Whatever." He took a step closer. "Do you have it?"

The small man held out a tiny flask, which the Colonel eagerly grabbed. "It has a dropper. You must be careful in its use. One drop will make him ill for a night. Two will keep him sick, and possibly bedridden, for a few days. Three will leave him in a coma for a minimum of two weeks, and he may not recover. Four will render him unconscious within the hour, dead by the next morning. More than that will cause increasingly violent reactions. I take it you want this neat and untraceable?"

"Of course."

"Use three. Then, sometime while he is unconscious, slip another two drops between his lips. That will quietly stop his heart."

"Three drops, then two more, got it. And he won't be able to taste it?"

"There is no taste, no odor, and only the slightest of an amber tinge. In tea, coffee or milk – or strong drink, for that matter – it will be undetectable."

"Excellent."

The small man held out his hand, into which the Colonel dropped a bag of coins.

"Thank you. A pleasure doing business. I wish you success in your venture, Colonel Aronsson."

"I have no doubt on that score."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _Clouds gather and darken as the spleen of Elsa's enemies congeals. Ignorance is bliss only until one realizes its existence. Then it turns to regret._**

 ** _All comments welcome!_**


	16. Precautions

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **It has been exactly one month since my last post, and that grates on my sense of responsibility. Yes, it's been a hard month. My wife spent almost three weeks in Florida, helping her mother move into assisted living … DURING Hurricane Irma. That was harrowing. My primary computer, the company computer I use for everything at work, got deeply infected with a nasty virus, and IT had to re-image it. I was without it for four days, and then spent most of the weekend catching up on what I had to do. It still isn't back to full functionality (missing connections that the "consultants" have not deigned to address as yet), and to forestall this happening again, I purchased a computer of my own. It's a simple thing, but then all I want it to do is handle my writing chores and do a little light web surfing. (Currently listening to "Lost in Paradise" by Evanescence.) It doesn't have to be a Boss. Anyway, this should prevent such glitches from happening in the future. On top of all that, my dog, Oreo, got severely sick. We thought it was pancreatitis, but it turned out to be lymphoma. Terminal. We went to the vet this morning and had him put to sleep. He'd been getting steadily weaker for the last few weeks, his right eye was necrotic, distended, and leaking blood, and made him look like an extra from a horror film, and this morning he refused to eat. I'd lain awake half the night, listening to his labored breathing, wondering if he'd last until dawn. This is the first dog I've ever had to put down. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I'd not anticipated exactly how WRECKED I would be afterward. Today was a haze of blurred vision and loss of focus and trips to the restroom just so I could be alone in a stall. I miss him HARD. Many of my friends, though, have given me a lot of encouragement. I understand Oreo will wait for me, with that patience only dogs know, at the path to the Summerlands … but it's hard. It's just really hard.**_

 _ **So, I apologize that this is a little short. I'll see about making it up to you with the next chapter.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen: Precautions**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle – Tuesday 22 March 1842, 3:00pm_

"Elsa!"

The Queen jerked her attention away from her full-length mirror to zero in on her sister, whose reddened features hinted at the speed she'd taken to get there.

Anna tripped over and grabbed her arm, then took a step back as her eyes widened. "Wow."

Holding her voluminous, snow-white wedding dress creation out with both hands, Elsa took a twirl and asked, "What do you think?"

Around a growing grin, Anna answered, "I think it'll go great with your present!"

That brought a blush to Elsa's cheeks. "Oh, hush."

"Oh, please. I know a thing or two about what's been uppermost in _your_ thoughts for weeks!"

The blush deepened, but she didn't deny it, finally giving a little sigh and murmuring, "Four days until the wedding."

That seemed to sober Anna abruptly. "Right. That's one of the things I came to talk about. Princess Idina just arrived."

"Our first guest! Wonderful! Is she in the castle yet?"

"They're getting sorted. But then I had a … a truly awful thought. And I had to come see you."

"Awful? What? How, awful?"

"You invited d'Espèrey."

"Yes? He was kind enough to dispose of Hans after the coronation, so I …" Her voice trailing off, a look of horror took her. Hands suddenly finding her cheeks, she whispered, "Oh. Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. d'Espèrey couldn't make it. He got assigned to another department."

"And they were … they were …"

"Right. They sent us another Ambassador."

"Oh, Dear God!"

"Elsa, you can't let that bloated fool be part of your wedding. You just can't."

"But … oh, Lord … he has … Guillaume _must_ have the official invitation!"

"Maybe. Probably."

"Why didn't I … oh, help! No! He can't be anywhere near … it would be a disaster!"

"We could insist that he bathe before coming."

"We don't exactly have a precedent for that yet." Elsa began pacing, wringing her hands. "He's managed to insinuate his bulk into three of our meetings, and we didn't … but …" She blinked a couple of times, then looked up at her sister. "Hey. Okay, you know, I adjusted the air currents to carry his stench away from us in the last two meetings."

"That won't be easy in the cathedral."

Pausing, Elsa thought about it. Hard. She tapped her chin. "Okay. How about this: my wedding is going to be a great deal more, ah … sedate than yours was."

"You can say that again."

Elsa arched a brow at her tone. "Those people who are important to me will be there. This is, frankly, Arendelle's business and no one else's. If it weren't for the fact that I want to include our citizens in the celebration, and that I feel I owe it to certain of our allies and friends, you and Kristoff and Bishop Torvik would be the only witnesses."

"Uh-huh. And most of Europa won't even notice as it is."

"You party your way, I'll party mine."

"Whatever. What's your idea?"

"I'll put a ward on him."

That pulled a frown from Anna. "What kind of ward?" She held up a hand. "Not that I don't think the idiot deserves whatever you feel like doing to him, but I'd rather not anger the French King."

"Neither would I. We're already straining relations a bit because of that abominable creature, Thiers."

"Yeah." Cocking her head, Anna asked again, "What kind of ward? You gonna make him sleep through the wedding?"

"Huh. That hadn't occurred to me, but it's not a bad idea. No, I was thinking about putting a localized wind around him, a sort of mini-cyclone to draw his odor straight up, then out one of the high windows."

"Sounds difficult."

"At this point, I'm not sure how to do it. I'll have to study on it."

"You've only got four days, and you'll be busy most of it." Anna toyed with one of her braids. "I think putting him to sleep would be better."

"Hmm."

"Just think about it, okay? One way or another, you'll have to keep him from wrecking your wedding."

"Too true."

"Ask around. Maybe Carlos has some ideas. I'll ask Kristoff."

"Very well. I'm _**so**_ glad you brought it up, though. Thank you!"

. . .

 _3:45pm_

"I'll bludgeon the disgusting toad unconscious myself!"

"Carlos-"

"I won't even have to touch him. I'll knock off that ridiculous excuse for a hat with one rock and ricochet another off his head. There are some nice round ones down by the shore."

"Dear-"

"No, seriously, my aim is that good. Then I can pay a couple of stout lads from the stable to drag him off."

Laying a hand on Carlos's arm, Elsa said, "Now, Dear, you know we can't do that."

"Like Hell I do. I don't care _how_ oblivious he acts, he _absolutely_ knows how bad he stinks. Unless his sense of smell is completely dead, and I don't believe _that_ for a second. He enjoys his food too much for that to be the case. And you know he uses his very presence like a club."

Elsa had no ready argument for that. Guillaume could be aggressively forward when he felt like it, and more than one of her Councilors had been trapped in a meeting over the last few weeks, eyes watering, trying to come up with some alternative to breathing the dank miasma that surrounded the rotund Ambassador. He had squeezed a couple of concessions from two of them that Elsa later was forced to nullify. She cleared her throat, gave her head a shake, and said, "Kindly allow me to attempt to craft a ward to isolate his stench before you get physical. I may be able to reduce it to a non-issue."

He shot her a sidelong glance, lips pursed for a second or two, and shrugged. "Fine. That _would_ be a lot more politic."

"More politic than a bash on the head? That isn't very difficult."

"But _he_ is."

"Heh. Yes. He is. Extremely so. But I think I have a good chance of neutralizing his major threat. Let's see how that works out first."

"Your will is my guide, Dear One."

That made her giggle.

. . .

 _4:05pm_

Kristoff was staring at a spot somewhere past Anna's left shoulder, finally shaking his head. "No, I can't see him being at the wedding, either. Anyone within five paces would either be deeply offended, or just faint."

"Yeah." She took note of his 'thoughtful' face and smirked. "You have an idea?"

"Maybe. I'll have to look into it."

"What is it?"

He met her eyes, reached out and ran a gentle hand down one braid. "I'd rather not say."

That surprised her. "Keeping secrets? I thought we said-"

"No, Sweetie, not a secret. Just something I have to research before I can talk about it."

"Even to me?"

"You can't let something slip if you don't know about it."

"Not fair!"

"It might be a big zero. Don't worry, I'll bring you in as soon as I'm sure it'll work."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

He chuckled. "That curiosity of yours. How'd you ever make it through childhood without getting badly injur … oh, wait."

She punched his shoulder.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Valley of the Living Rock – Wednesday 23 March 1842_

Grandpabbie considered Kristoff's story for many a long minute, staring at the young man, who returned his gaze calmly. Finally, he shrugged his grass cape over stony shoulders, and stood. "This is a strange thing you ask. A hard thing. A dangerous thing."

"How could it be dangerous? All I want is some way to keep that oaf away from the wedding. Anna suggested that Elsa put a ward on him to put him to sleep, but he might pick up on that. I don't want her to be put in that situation, where he would have that to hold over her."

"Yes. I understand your motives. But you must understand mine. Troll magic is not to be used lightly. That sets a bad precedent."

"Hey, the only other time I've ever asked you for magical help was when Anna was freezing solid."

"And yet, here you are. No one's life is in danger. There is no enemy on the kingdom's border. On balance, the worst this man could be is a nuisance."

Kristoff frowned. He bent and picked up a round stone, tossing it from hand to hand while he thought over his reasoning. "Okay, yeah. On the surface, maybe. But this is a royal wedding, and there are going to be a couple dozen royal guests. Elsa wants to reassure everyone that she means no harm. She wants all her guests to feel comfortable. That won't be possible with Guillaume in the cathedral." He tossed the rock away and crossed his arms. "Honestly, Grandpabbie, you'd have to smell this guy to believe it. The nastiest old, mangy goat you ever met wouldn't hold a candle to how bad he stinks. And that's coming from a guy who works with men who bathe two or three times a year."

Pabbie stroked his chin a bit. "A candle?"

"Um … yeah. It's just a saying."

"A candle." He stared thoughtfully into the sky.

"What about a candle?"

A raised hand stopped further questions.

Kristoff waited patiently while the old troll worked through whatever had occurred to him.

Finally, Pabbie asked, "Did you say the wedding was to be in the morning?"

"Right. The ceremony starts at nine-thirty."

"Hmm." More chin-stroking.

"Did you come up with something?"

"… Possibly. Wait here." He trundled off to his cave. Several minutes passed before he reappeared. "Come back tomorrow."

"So, you'll help?"

"In a manner of speaking. I have some things to look into. And I must consult the Earth."

"Okay. So, tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"And you'll have something I can use?"

"I'll have an answer for you, one way or the other."

"That's all I can ask. Is there anything I need to do before then?"

"Not that I … . . . … hmm."

"Yes?"

"Can you get to Arendelle, locate someone, and return here by sundown tomorrow?"

"… Probably. Depends on how much trouble I have locating … a specific person? Anyone I know?"

"Yes. Nicolai Petrov."

"The _assassin?_ Why? I don't want anyone killed!"

"This I know. But that man has other skills as well. We will make use of them."

"Huh. Okay. Yeah, I think that won't be too hard. I know where he stays most of the time."

"Good. Bring him." And Pabbie went back into his cave.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Sweden – Wednesday 23 March 1842, 10:30am_

Princess Eugénie, Royal House of Bernadotte of Sweden, only daughter of Oscar I and Josephine of Leuchtenberg, and granddaughter of King Charles XIV, tugged on her au pair's sleeve. "Look, Martine, let's go in there!"

Smiling indulgently, the tall matron holding the Princess's hand peered into the confectioner's shop and nodded assent. Glancing back at the two guards discreetly following them, she jerked her head in the door's direction, then let Eugénie lead her into the haze of heavenly scents. The guards took up positions on either side of the entrance.

The girl poked excitedly through a few of the glass-fronted displays, the elderly, rotund shop owner indulgently following and offering samples. He knew the Prince would be good for the cost.

Prince Oscar had taken his family to the Tullgarn Palace for the week, to begin the process of getting it out of mothballs and readying it for the summer move. But the novelty had quickly worn off for the almost-twelve-year-old, and she begged to be allowed to visit the city. Oscar had ever been vulnerable to her cute little pout, and quickly gave in.

After a couple of minutes, three men ambled up to the shop, discussing possible presents for their girlfriends. Two of them peered into the windows while the third chatted up the guards. Some animated pointing and gestures accompanied the admiration they all evinced for the chocolatey offerings. One went inside. The other two stood indolently in the doorway.

Then two more men came around the sides of the shop, moved quickly to the entrance, and stabbed each guard through the neck. The loungers caught the falling guards and dragged them efficiently into the confectionary. The knife-wielders followed and drew the shades on the front windows.

Martine did not immediately comprehend what was going on. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the commotion, but was engaged in conversation with Eugénie, and her distraction cost her. It was the startled look in the Princess's eyes that made her turn … and gape. She grabbed for a whistle hanging from a cord around her neck, but one of the murderers slashed her hand. Two fingers fell to the floor. Both Martine and Eugénie screamed, until one man stuffed a gag into the Princess's mouth, and another cracked the matron on the head. The shop owner, cowering in a corner behind a case, was dragged out roughly and propped against the wall.

"Mr. Sigurdsson, is it?"

The white-haired head nodded.

"Well, Mr. Sigurdsson, we'd like for you to convey a message for us."

"I-I-I-I-I … yes. An-anything."

"We need for His Highness to understand that we have his daughter. And you will see to it that he gets this parchment." He held up a loosely-rolled sheet.

"Ye-yessir."

Martine moaned and rolled to her hands and knees. One of the men pulled her erect and pushed her over next to Mr. Sigurdsson.

"Now, I realize," continued the apparent kidnapper-in-chief, "that it is sometimes difficult to get a message delivered correctly, word for word, so we took the liberty of having this drawn up." He waved the parchment. After giving the nod to the two murderers, the woman and the old man were quickly and ruthlessly tied together, standing back-to-back in front of the long display case. "The only difficulty, then, is getting this to the Prince in a timely manner, but also in such a way as to prevent him from following us. That wouldn't work out so well for us, you see."

The old man swallowed hard, and nodded. "Whatever you want, sir."

"Good, good." He clapped Mr. Sigurdsson's shoulder. "I'm glad you agree. Now …" He tucked the parchment securely between their shoulder blades. "Just one more thing to tidy this up. This is a sword of Austrian manufacture." Drawing a long saber, he saluted the old man. "Finding this here with you will throw them off the scent."

"F-f-finding?"

Before another word was spoken, he ran it through both of them. Martine expired in seconds. Mr. Sigurdsson bubbled and gasped for a minute before his eyes slid shut.

One of the murderers scoffed, "Finally finished playing with your food?"

"There is an art to these things. You should learn to appreciate it."

"Can we just get the Hell out of here now?"

"Quite. Out the back, then."

No one investigated until Mrs. Sigurdsson showed up shortly after six that evening, unlocked the front door, walked in, and screamed. Two more hours passed before the parchment made its way to the Prince.

By then, the kidnappers were no longer even in Sweden.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Valley of the Living Rock – Thursday 24 March 1842, 8:10pm_

Hoofbeats sounded faintly as Kristoff and Nicolai rapidly approached. Arriving at the edge of the volcanic area, they dismounted and came the rest of the way on foot, at a trot.

Grandpabbie stood waiting, his staff in one hand. Wordlessly, he gestured toward his cave and led the two inside.

Nicolai's heart beat hard. Having Kristoff tell him about these creatures was one thing. Meeting an actual Earth Elemental? That would stick with him for the rest of his life.

The old troll sat heavily on a boulder, reached to the side, and produced a short, fat candle. It was black, with light gray streaks weaving through it. "Mr. Petrov," he began without preamble, "you will take this candle, get inside the French Embassy the night before the wedding, find a place where it will not be disturbed, light it, and leave as quickly as ever you may. Do not stay in that house more than one minute beyond when the flame catches."

"Yes, My Lord. I understand."

Pabbie lifted a brow in Kristoff's direction and mouthed, _"My Lord?"_ Kristoff, hiding a tiny smile, only shrugged.

"Is it safe to hold?" asked the Russian.

"Of course. Why would it not be?"

"I – well. Apologies, My Lord. An old colleague of mine … but that isn't important. You are no assassin."

"Indeed not."

Nicolai took the candle. "So. Friday night, I will get this into the French Embassy and set it alight."

"Yes."

"And that will prevent the Ambassador from disturbing My Lady Queen's wedding?"

Nodding, Pabbie answered, "If you do your part, yes."

"Perfect."

"Do not light the candle until after midnight. It will burn for twelve hours. As long as the flame glows, anything in that house that was already asleep will remain asleep."

"I will not fail."

"This I understand. I chose you for this task for your skills. I don't expect it will be difficult for you."

"Whatever I may do to aid My Lady Queen, this I will do."

"So Kristoff has said." He stood. "You should return now. Kristoff has a few things to say to Princess Anna, and you have a house to investigate."

The two men nodded and took their leave.

. . .

. . .

. . .


	17. Beginnings

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **How do you solve a problem like Maria?  
**_ _ **How do you hold a cloud and pin it down?**_

 _ **The context is a bit different, but that's sort of how Elsa was feeling about Guillaume, if you'll recall: What on Earth was she going to do about him? (And if you've never seen "The Sound of Music", shame on you.) She was still working on some kind of solution. Now we shall see what may be done. Among other things.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen: Beginnings**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Mikael Naismith's office – Friday 25 March 1842, shortly after lunch_

Kurt Magnussen, Pieter Rolfsson, and Dankert Knutsen (the Ministers of, respectively, Foreign Affairs, Peer Relations, and Finance) occupied chairs ranged around the Admiral's heavy desk, intently studying the various documents that covered it. While the Council did meet in quorum on semi-regular occasions, matters often arose that were accomplished more quickly and easily if only those most deeply involved were present. Case in point: treaty reviews.

Mikael used a blunt finger to tap the parchment in front of him. "So now Portugal is on board."

"A nice gesture," responded Kurt, "but largely toothless, considering that their navy is still in tatters after that storm."

Pieter grunted, "Navy and nation. They'll be rebuilding for years."

Kurt continued, "The treaty with Ireland is much the same. Their naval force is no larger than ours, and poorly armed."

"Eh. They don't need one, given their relations with Avalon."

Mikael shot him a look. "Denmark, however, and Austria, are valuable allies."

"No argument there." He glanced at Dankert. "By the way, what's the trade situation with the state of Gelderstijn?"

"Heavily in our favor. They were intensely grateful for that fish we sold them last year." Allowing himself a small grin, he tapped his quill on the paper he was using to take notes and added, "I could have taken rather extreme advantage of them, had I been of a mind to do so. As it is, I got reasonable increases in the prices for our dyes and glassware, they _dropped_ their price for silk to a point I considered surprisingly low, and they've eliminated the tariffs on lumber, fur, ice, and cloth goods."

"Not beer?"

"Well, no. We have no trouble getting a fine price for beer as it is, even though their own ales are quite good. Besides, if demand rose much beyond where it is, our brewers wouldn't be able to keep up."

"Most importantly," interjected Mikael, "they have a capable army, and have pledged it to our support."

Kurt shrugged. "Well, yes." He picked up one of the documents and waved it. "This, though. This response from the Southern Isles. It frustrates me. Why are they being so standoffish?"

The Admiral immediately said, "Shame."

Sitting back and running a finger along his chin, Kurt said, "Shame?"

"Yes. Their youngest Prince brought shame on their line."

"Okay. They're ashamed of what Hans did, sure. But he's, ah, _sincerely_ dead. Besides, the Queen has made it plain that she assigns no responsibility for that to the royal family."

"That doesn't mean they don't feel any. He did, after all, escape from his punishment rather easily."

"Eh. Maybe."

Pieter asked, "What of Russia?"

"They don't trust us. We have a non-aggression treaty with Sweden-Norway, and the Tsar and King Charles have been rattling sabers at each other for years."

"So that's probably a dead end."

"Probably."

"Crap."

"Well, it's not as if they have any interest in us one way or the other. You could drop Arendelle into Russia and never _find_ it again."

"True enough."

Dankert said, "Poland is coming along, though. Princess Anna and Princess Idina are close."

"And Poland dances to Russia's fiddle," countered Kurt. "How the Princesses feel about each other is immaterial. Poland is officially a Russian state, and Prince Olblad isn't going to do anything to upset Nicolas. It's not safe to garner the Tsar's displeasure."

"Hmph. Also true."

"Spain is nearly there, though."

"Considering the fact of our Queen's marriage – tomorrow – to one of Espartero's _hidalgos_ , no one should find that much of a shock."

There were several chuckles over that.

After a couple of breaths, Kurt said, "Which leaves only France in the current round of discussions."

The other three men groaned.

"Yes, I know. I've yet to tease out Louis-Phillipe's game there." Shaking his head, he crossed his arms and leaned on the desk. "That first ridiculous attempt at a treaty …"

The document in question had arrived on the twelfth of January, and ran to a hundred and forty-eight large pages of elaborately-flourished script. Elsa slogged through the first three pages, then gave it up as a bad job before passing it on to Councilor Magnussen, who handed it off to five of his staff for perusal. His report on the thing four days later left her shaking in anger, and irritably banishing sudden icicles from nearby furniture. It was blatantly condescending, offering France's "estimation, friendship, and advice", but nothing of any economic or military use. It guaranteed all sorts of trade concessions and privileges to the French, making the assumption that Arendelle would be grateful for the opportunity to lick their boots … and _permitting_ Elsa to marry into the French court. And this after what Thiers had done?! No. Not in any respect. She sent it back to the French delegation, carefully sliced into small, rectangular confetti, with the comment that it was entirely unsuitable and the direction that the next one be no longer than two pages.

France's second attempt arrived five weeks after the first. It had still included language – albeit cleverly disguised – stating in round-about terms that Arendelle's royal family would agree to some sort of permanent, mutual connection to Louis Philippe's family. It had been returned with a terse note stating that Princess Anna was married and Queen Elsa was already engaged. Shortly after that, Ambassador Guillaume showed up, and things got unpleasant.

"Yes," agreed Mikael. "An insult to our intelligence."

"Nearly as big an insult as Guillaume."

"Ha. The King must see _that_ as a sort of test."

Dankert observed, "Of our ability to hold our tempers, no doubt."

"At least."

"We are eventually going to have to do something about that cretin," muttered Pieter.

Dankert asked, "Guillaume?"

"Who else."

"He's not a cretin," the young man argued. "Not in the slightest. I can't see his ultimate purpose here, but I'm sure his plans have more layers than an onion."

"If his plan is to make everyone he meets despise him, I'd call it a resounding success."

"No one would do what he's done by accident. At the very least, if he didn't have a modicum of intelligence, somebody would have killed him before now."

"Heh. True enough, I suppose."

Kurt asked, "Does anyone want to discuss Avalon today?"

A general round of groans answered that.

"Yeah, neither do I. Gentlemen, I will submit our notes to the Queen, after which I intend to stop by the Cook and Kettle. I have it on good authority that Tor just finished aging a side of beef, and _that_ , sirs, demands attention."

Mikael nodded. "I think we can all agree on that."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle's Cathedral – Saturday 26 March 1842, 9:15am_

"Breathe, Elsa."

"I _am_ breathing!"

"No, you're panting, with the occasional gasp thrown in for distraction." Anna took her sister by her shoulders and touched their foreheads together. "Take a really deep breath."

Elsa did.

"Now hold it."

"What? Why?"

"Oh, for … take another."

This one was a bit slower, fuller. The handmaids took a few seconds to arrange the long, lacy, icy train.

"Close your eyes and hold your breath. One … two … three …" When she reached 'eight', she said, "Okay now let it out slowly, through your nose."

A couple more go-rounds like that, and Elsa wasn't feeling quite so dizzy. "Good. Thanks."

"Any time. Now, would you please get rid of the frost?"

Elsa shot a slightly guilty glance around the room and waved a hand to dissipate the ice. "Sorry."

"Not a problem."

She gave her lip a brief chew. "Is Guillaume still not there?"

"Since Kristoff hasn't said anything, I'm going with 'no'. We'll know it if he shows up."

"I hope to the Good Lord Kristoff's plan works, whatever it is."

"He says it will, and I trust him, even if he won't tell me what he did until after the wedding."

Bishop Torvik came in through one of the small side doors, walked up to Elsa, and bowed. "Your Majesty. I'll be taking my place in ten minutes. The homily will only take about five. When the choir takes up your anthem, the Guard will open these doors."

Anna glanced at the icicles forming on the ceiling, sighed, pulled Elsa's head back around to look her in the eye, and said, "Breathe."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The French Embassy, some nine hours before the wedding_

Nicolai Petrov grinned to himself. _They call this a lock? A blind monkey could pick this thing._ With a pause of only seconds, he was inside and pulling the door quietly shut behind him.

Some earlier reconnaissance, and a subtle conversation with one of the French servants over a great deal more _akvavit_ than she could handle, had cemented the layout of the place in his mind. He glided along the central hallway, coming to a stop beside a not-quite-closed door. This, he pushed open, slipping inside.

The Embassy boasted three receiving rooms where guests were entertained. This was the smallest, and least-often used, and he'd considered it perfect. Removing the candle from a pouch, he placed it on a small table in the corner behind the door, and pulled a sealed pack of matches from a pocket. This new-fangled invention made a lot of things easier, and he shortly had the candle lit. It guttered, sparked, and gave off a misty gray fume that flowed down over the edge of the table and onto the floor, where it began to spread.

Being mindful of what the old troll had said to him, Nicolai was back outside and moving invisibly along the alley not half a minute later …

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The French Embassy, 2:10pm, over three hours after the royal wedding concluded_

Ambassador Guillaume, for the fourth time since they began this 'conversation', used his walking stick as a cudgel on the head servant. "Fool! Can't you come up with a better excuse than that? Answer me!"

The poor old man, terrified primarily for his life and secondarily for his position, could only ward off the blows with his arms while trying to explain. Not that he _had_ an explanation. Even on his days off, he hadn't slept past eight in the morning in decades. (His bladder wouldn't let him.) That he – and the entire household – had lain slugabed until well past noon confused him to no end. He sputtered out more apologies, more assurances that it would never happen again, more pleas for leniency.

Guillaume kicked the man, spit on him in disgust, and said, "Get out of my sight!" before he stomped back to his rooms, grinding his teeth until they threatened to crack. To miss such an opportunity! He could have had Arendelle alienated from half the continent! Could have put that icy bitch into a malleable situation, one he could control! He'd had it all planned out! And then, to simply sleep through the …

… Wait …

 _Blast. Damn and blast._ It had to have been magic! But how? How had she accomplished it? He'd already had the place nearly torn apart, looking for clues, but there was nothing! Not a grain of corn, not a speck of dust, not a hint of anything out of place, certainly no traces of ice … nothing whatsoever to indicate that it had been anything but an ordinary night. Damn it all to Hell. _I'll have to invest in some actual_ _guards_ _that can maybe stay_ _ **awake**_ _when they're supposed to._

This was a setback, and a most annoying one; this derailed his timetable, and he could ill afford any hiccups. He'd been planning his moves for more than two months, and to have them evaporate in front of his eyes …

He flopped down into a chair, ignoring the creaks and pops in its frame, and rested his flabby chin on a fist.

Fine.

She wanted to make this difficult?

Fine.

He could play it the hard way, too.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Mikael Naismith's office – Monday 28 March 1842_

Three sharp knocks sounded against the door's stout oaken panels. Mikael glanced up, flicked his focus to the mantel clock, nodded to himself, and said, "Enter!"

Nicolai Petrov, former member of a notorious assassins' guild, late of Morana's service, and most recently a fervidly loyal member of Elsa's Guard, stepped into the room.

"Ah. Punctual, as usual."

"Sir. You wished to see me."

"That I did, Mr. Petrov. Please, have a seat."

Nicolai took the proffered chair.

"We've not run across one another since the wedding. Did you enjoy it?"

"I enjoyed not seeing anyone try to disrupt it. My Lady Queen didn't need that kind of headache interfering with her celebration."

"She did look most thrilled, didn't she?" Mikael steepled his fingers and said, "Well, enough chit-chat. What do you know about Leonardo, Cardinal Papella, Archbishop of Lucca?"

Nicolai stared into the middle distance for about two seconds, then said, "He is personal secretary to Pope Gregory. He was the one who foolishly hired the Guild to capture and maim my Lady Queen."

Having gotten to know the man over the last few months, Mikael noted the slight pair of lines that appeared briefly between Nicolai's brows, and correctly interpreted both his mortification over that incident and his anger at the Cardinal. The Admiral had come to understand that Nicolai carefully guarded his outward appearance against any overt emotional revelations. "Yes, that is so. Were you aware that he has not given up his crusade against Elsa?"

This time the barest twitch of one eye accompanied that ghost of a frown. "No, sir. That I did not."

"I'd thought not."

"May I assume that you would like for me to do something about that?"

"That, my boy, would be a true and accurate statement."

"It will give me the deepest and most ecstatic delight to address this issue for you, sir."

"Bully. Bully. Yes, I believe you may be just the man for the job."

"Sir, what is your desire as to the timing?"

"If you could somehow manage to complete the job a week ago, that would be best."

"I understand, sir." This time Nicolai couldn't quite fight off his grin. "May I assume you don't want there to be any sort of connection with Arendelle?"

"It's a sharp one, you are. Wish I had a dozen more like you."

"I doubt, sir, that a dozen men like me exist."

"And I count myself blessed that it is so." He stood, so Nicolai did as well. "This being a rather urgent mission, I don't wish to keep you any longer than necessary."

"Thank you, sir." The grin was growing apace.

"Please see the quartermaster for anything – anything at all – you might require for the success of your venture."

"I shall do so, sir." His steps were quick as he left the office.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _A Receiving Room in Arendelle Castle – Tuesday 29 March 1842_

Dankert Knutsen strode up the long hall, coming to a stop in front of the guard stationed before an ornately-carved door. "The Countess sent me a message-"

Grinning, the guard opened the door and called out, "Councilor Lord Knutsen to see you, Your Grace." And he bowed Dankert in.

She sat primly on an ottoman by the window, dainty hands crossed in her lap, in a conservative gown of rich burgundy velvet trimmed in black silk. Her smile, upon meeting his eyes, was small but genuine. "Hello, Dankert."

"Good afternoon, Sofia." His eyes flicked to her maid (friend?) Maria, sitting in an alcove on the far side of the room, a book on her lap. He took a couple of steps in Sofia's direction, clasped his hands behind his back, attempted to control his breathing, and said, "Thank you for seeing me."

"I did say I would."

"Yes, you did. And may I say the last two weeks have been the longest of my life. By a considerable margin."

"Have they now."

"Indeed."

"And might I know why?"

"I am certain you do." He stepped closer until they could almost reach out and touch, then dropped to one knee. "Sofia … you know I love you. For that matter, I believe everyone who has ever _heard_ of me knows it, if palace gossip is anything to go on. At our last dinner, I asked if you would be willing to become my wife."

"Yes, you did."

"And you asked for two weeks to consider my proposal." Had he known at the time that she wouldn't communicate with him _at_ _ **all**_ during that fortnight, he might have come at things differently. Not speaking with her, not being near her, was torture, as was seeing her across the cathedral at Elsa's wedding. She'd spared him a single, brief glance, then turned her attention back to the ceremony. After a slight pause, he said, "It's been two weeks."

"Also true."

He was sure she could hear the thunder of his heartbeat. It was nearly all _he_ could hear. "So, I will ask you plainly. Will you consent to marry me?"

The loudest silence he'd ever heard filled the next handful of seconds … then her smile grew broad. "I find your proposal acceptable."

The relief that flooded his mind and body almost knocked him over. After a couple of breaths, he managed, "Thank you." He stood then, grinning stupidly down at her. "I promise you won't regret it."

"I have no intention of regretting it."

That made him bark a short laugh. "You have such a droll way with words."

"So I've been told."

He reached for her hand. "It's one of the several hundred things I love about you." He brought her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

Her eyes went from his, to her hand, then to his lips. Then she stood. "I believe we can do better than that."

"I beg your pa-"

And she was kissing him.

Twice before, he had kissed girls. The first time, when he was fifteen, it was because her friends had dared her to. That particular pock-mark on his soul would probably never entirely vanish. The second time was at a state function shortly after he had entered Baron Hagen's employ. The girl had been more than a little in her cups, and had backed Dankert into a corner, expressing frank wishes that turned his face a brilliant scarlet. That kiss had been … eh, his best word for it was 'sloppy'.

This kiss, her soft, soft lips sealing against his, bore no resemblance whatsoever to those. It was galvanic and frightening, searing and comfortable all at once. It was molten bronze, a bright spray of spring flowers, a solar flare. It was salvation. It was much more than everything he'd ever hoped a kiss could be, and it left him quite breathless when they broke apart for air. He could see high color in Sofia's cheek below her wide eyes as he held her, their foreheads touching. One of her knees buckled, and she whispered, "My word. That was … unexpected."

"Ahem!"

Two heads jerked around to gape at Maria, who stood, arms akimbo, glaring at them. Dankert instantly released Sofia and took a quick step back.

"I'm supposed to be a chaperon, am I not?"

Sofia folded her hands, blushing to her roots. "Yes. Thank you, Maria. Ah …" She glanced at Dankert, then at the floor between them. "I may have, ah … I'd not before been … um, pray forgive my, ah, distraction."

Maria tittered and clapped her hands softly. "Oh, your face, Doña! Sorry, I mean, Sofia." She strolled over to the pair and studied Dankert. "Sir, you seem to be sweating."

He tugged his collar. "I think the fireplace must be rather over-filled. Don't you?"

"Not at all." She chuckled again and said, "Don't you have an announcement to make now?"

"Oh! Um, yes. Yes, we do." He locked eyes with Sofia, who smiled rather vacantly and nodded. She took his hand. Blinking, then turning to Maria, she asked, "Holding hands is acceptable, yes?"

"Sure. Let's get you two off to see the Queen. Anna told me Sunday that she'd been out of sorts – I think her word was 'exasperated' – with Dankert because he couldn't keep his mind on task, and she very well knew why." Gesturing at their clasped hands, she added, "Maybe this will ease his mind."

Dankert nodded. "Doubtless."

"Fine. Fine. Off you go." She got them moving.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Weselton, the Duke's study, 10:00pm_

The Duke reclined slightly in a massive, ornate chair of some dark red hardwood, on a cushion of thickly-padded velvet, and studied the man on the other side of his desk. "So, what you are telling me, in brief terms, is that we have similar interests where Arendelle is concerned."

"That is correct, Your Grace."

Picking up a quill, the Duke toyed with it for a moment. "How do you plan to deploy your forces?"

"There will be mercenaries coming in across the southern border, and an army twice the size of Arendelle's attacking from the east, through mountain passes."

"All of which will mean nothing with the Ice Witch on the throne."

"That will not be an issue."

"… Really."

"We are taking measures to neutralize her power."

Quirking a brow, the Duke considered his words and observed, "That must mean you have a magic source of your own."

"Actually, it is an _anti_ -magic source. Useful only against those who wield the Black Arts."

"Do tell."

The man merely nodded.

"Very well. What is your time frame?"

"We should have everything in place and ready to go by the first week of June."

That made the little Duke frown. The date coincided with his own initial plans for conquest-by-sea. "And how did you arrive at that particular point?"

"It was the soonest my Master could pull everything together. He had tried once before to take her from the throne. It did not go well, and he decided it was due to poor planning."

"I see. And his planning this time is better?"

"Much. Also, we have a better tool."

Placing the quill back in its well, and his hands flat on the desk top, the Duke rose to his feet. "You've given me much to think about. I will investigate the situation for three days and then give you my answer."

The man gave a silent, internal scoff. He knew there wouldn't be anything of note the Duke could learn in that time. But he also recognized a dismissal when he heard one, and he stood as well. "I will be in town. I have a room at the Key-and-Cross."

The Duke wordlessly clasped his hands together at the small of his back and flicked his eyes toward the door.

His guest bowed and left.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **A.N.:**_

 _ **For those who may be inquisitive about what happened  
**_ _ **between Elsa's wedding and this next scene, your  
curiosity may be satisfied by reading "Melted", my other  
Meltdown-sequel-so-far. Yes, there will be at least one more.**_

 _ **If, however, you aren't that curious, or don't think you  
should intrude on such intimacies, feel free to skip it.**_

 _ **Carry on.**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Morana's Castle – Wednesday 30 March 1842, 3:00pm_

Carlos picked a large grape off the cluster gracing a platter beside their bed, tossed it into his mouth, and bit down, popping the skin to get to the sweet, crisp, juicy center. He chewed reflectively and reached for another. "You should set up something like this back home," he suggested, holding the grape out to Elsa.

She, reclining against her husband's bare form, giggled and countered, "I would have to be an all-powerful Fey, were I inclined to do so." She took the grape and ate it.

"I'm sure we can come up with a combination of spells to achieve the same thing."

"Maybe. If there are already grapes in the castle somewhere. I can't create something _ex nilhilo_."

"You create ice."

"Well, yes. Of course."

"And sticks."

"… Huh?"

"And coal."

She turned to look him in the eye. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"Olaf." He ate another grape and returned her gaze, a faintly-puzzled grin on his lips.

"Olaf?"

"Yes, Olaf. Why are you giving me that look?"

"What in the world does Olaf have to do with my being able to create coal?"

"You made him."

"Um, yeah. So?"

"So he has sticks for arms, and three pieces of coal for buttons on his non-existent shirt."

"But … but I didn't _create_ them!"

"Elsa … I've been to North Mountain. That high up, it's nothing but bare rock."

"… Um …"

"I can't believe no one's brought this up before. Did you see any sticks or coal lying around when you made him?"

"… I … it never … um, no? But they _were!_ They _had_ to be. Some previous traveler …"

He gave a loud laugh. "Up there? I seriously doubt there was _ever_ any 'previous traveler'. That spot is remote."

She lapsed into serious cogitation. After a minute, she objected, "But I've not been able to do it since. And I _know_ I never did it before. Truly, they _must_ have been there already."

"You say you haven't been _able_ to do it. How do you know? Have you tried?"

"… No? Um … I mean, how would I? I wouldn't know how to start!"

"We can both use magicks apart from those we were born with."

"The Mind Arts. And Healing. That isn't Making."

"Are you sure? When you healed that woodcutter's foot, you'd said he lopped off about a third of it. Did you reattach what he cut?"

Those beautiful blue eyes blinked at him for a moment. "No. They'd left it in the forest when they carried him back home."

"But now he has a whole foot."

"Carlos! That's _Healing!_ It's … it's like, encouraging his body to … to _regenerate_. It's something the _patient_ does!"

"Where does the extra flesh come from?"

"Um … his body … makes it?"

"I'm thinking maybe not."

"What makes you so sure?"

"What makes _you_ sure I'm wrong?"

"Because … because I just can't! Okay?!"

"Whoa, whoa. I'm not trying to pick a fight. I'm just surprised you've never thought it through before."

"Maybe because of all the distractions I've been involved in since taking the throne?"

"Granted." He was silent for a moment, then shot her a somewhat lascivious glance. "Would you like to get distracted again?"

Relaxing against him, she nodded. "That sounds wonderful. And we do need to keep things nice and even after all."

"Even? What's that mean?"

"Well, count them up. Seven times this morning, but only four times since lunch. We need three more to make it even. And besides, you are apparently thinking _entirely_ too clearly, and I believe I can fix that."

"You _are_ good at reducing me to a dazed pile of quivering parts."

"Practice makes perfect." She turned and sort of crawled up his body until she could kiss him.

He returned her kiss for a while, as hands roamed and things got heated, then breathed, "I approve of practice."

"Let's try that last position again."

"Heh. You _are_ a limber little thing."

They weren't two minutes into their 'practice session' when the alarm sounded. Not realizing at first where the noise was coming from, they looked about dazedly. Then Elsa's focus zeroed in on the small sphere of hardened ice on a corner table across the room. She frowned, and muttered, "I'm gonna pinch her head off."

Carlos slithered out from under her and flew over to the alarm. "I don't think decapitation will be necessary, Dear. I'm sure she wouldn't have contacted us without a damned good reason."

. . .

 _Four Days Ago …_

 _Anna met the newlyweds in the vestibule behind the Dome. "Welp. Looks like you guys are official now."_

" _And officially_ _ **leaving**_ _," rejoined her sister. "Now."_

 _With a huge grin, Anna asked, "What's your hurry?"_

 _Elsa wrapped both her arms around Carlos's right one. "I have a husband to debauch, and tempus fugit."_

" _Right," agreed Carlos. "We'll see you in thirty days."_

" _Humph._ _ **We**_ _only got two weeks."_

" _Your_ _ **first**_ _trip was two weeks. Then four days later you hopped a boat right back to Corona and were gone almost five."_

" _That wasn't the official honeymoon."_

" _It walked like a duck and quacked like a duck."_

" _That reminds me. You said if I have to get in touch with you …" Anna pulled a small sphere of ice from her reticule. "All I have to do is hold this and call your name, right?"_

" _Anna …"_

" _So I can call you for, like, advice on what to have for dinner? Or maybe which dress I should wear? Or to discuss the weather?"_

" _You may call me if the kingdom's on fire. Otherwise, keep that thing locked up." Elsa's expression would have scared anyone else. Anna just grinned._

" _Sure thing, sis. You two have fun."_

 _Carlos said, "Never doubt it." He looked down at his wife. "Let's go find that portal."_

" _You read my mind."_

" _Well, as a matter of fact, I did."_

. . .

Carlos snagged the ice sphere and tossed it to Elsa, who gripped it and said, "Anna? Is that you?"

The Princess's voice was clear … and exasperated. "Yes, Elsa, who else would it be?"

"This had better be really, _really_ important."

A sigh came through the link. "Yeah. It is. Elsa, there's a delegation from King Charles standing in the Great Hall."

"… The real King Charles? Not someone's figment?"

"Bona fide. Elsa, they need to speak with you. In person."

"Ughhhhhh. Why?"

"Because Sweden has declared war on Arendelle."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **A.N.:**_

 _ **Don't you just hate when that happens?**_

 _ **This is going to toss the sabot into the gears, and no mistake. No one in Arendelle could have seen this coming (they do, after all, have a non-aggression treaty in place, as Elsa once stated to Hans). So Elsa is going to have to scramble to see if there is any way they can avoid actual cannonballs and whatnot flying around … and to find out why an apparent ally now wants to squash them like a bug.**_

 _ **And what will this do to Sofia and Dankert? If Arendelle is at war, will the Spanish Diplomatic Delegation be allowed to stay? Decisions, decisions.**_

 _ **Stay tuned, kids!**_


	18. How Prepared is Prepared Enough?

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Okay, My Dear Wonderful Peeps, from here on for a while, the story is already largely written, so I'll be posting new chapters MUCH more regularly. I'll try to limit it to one per week, to give everyone who wants to the opportunity to comment. We'll see how well that works out.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen: How Prepared is "Prepared Enough"?**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle – Tuesday 05 April 1842_

Though the stiff breeze could still make one's teeth chatter (the ambient temperature being only a few degrees above freezing) the late-morning sun had warmed the dark, hard-packed earth of the Queen's Own Guards' training yard. More than three weeks had passed since the last rain, so scuffling feet tended to kick up low clouds of dust here and there. The five people sparring, however, were preoccupied enough that they took no notice of any of it.

Sergeant Ole Rolfsson, eldest son of one of Elsa's most trusted Councilors, was a nine-year veteran of the Queen's Own Guard. Though not as solidly built as his opponent, he was a hand taller, and had tremendous reserves of stamina and experience to go with his reach. However, what Kristoff lacked in reach, he more than made up for in power. When he had begun his sword lessons the previous fall (he refused to call it _fencing_ , insisting that the word should be reserved for actual fences) the instructors had quickly determined that the best use of his skills most likely lay in simply over-powering his opponent. To that end, his weapon of choice was a heavy bastard sword. While not as long as a great sword, its mass topped eight kilos, with two sharp edges, a keen point, and a wide cross-guard. Kristoff wielded it one-handed. Years of ice-harvesting had left him with muscles like seasoned heartwood, and his trainers gleefully took advantage of that fact.

Over the last six weeks, they had added a twist: instead of a shield, he was given a specially forged ice-axe-war-pick with a stout sword-breaker for a handle, primarily a defensive tool. Of course in any real fight he would activate his wards, but they were for stopping high-speed projectiles, not the strokes of a hand-held weapon. And the sword-breaker _certainly_ helped make the fights short. A ferocious grin took over his face as soon as he hefted it, and he quickly gained proficiency with the unusual weapon. After a couple of weeks, the Royal weapon-smith made known (to anyone who would hold still long enough to listen) his displeasure over the growing pile of ruined blades and split shields outside his smithy. Kristoff laughed and told him to consider it job security.

All that being said, although his training was the very definition of 'intense', Kristoff only had six months of it under his belt. The Sergeant had been an expert in the discipline for a dozen years. A ringing report heralding yet another loss of his sword, Kristoff huffed in frustration and trotted over to retrieve it.

Ole observed, "You aren't paying attention to your footwork."

"Yes. I get it." Kristoff wiped the dirt off his sword and stalked back over. "That's what you've been saying for the last week."

"One then might wonder, if you know that, _why_ you aren't paying attention."

"I am! I had my leg back, I was on the balls of my feet …"

"Too _much_ on them. You don't stand on your tip-toes; you simply don't let your heels touch the ground." Twirling his own blade at Kristoff's feet, he said, "I can see it. I was hoping you'd figure out what was wrong on your own, but-"

"Like I have anything to compare it with! If I try to stand that way on the ice, I'll break my neck!"

"Fine. You fight someone on the ice, do it your way." He kicked up a little dust cloud. "You fight on _solid_ ground, do it _my_ way."

Two long breaths later, the Prince Consort raised his sword. "Again?"

"Again."

Across the yard, the other trio of combatants was holding a livelier form of the Deadly Dance, their smaller, lighter blades ricocheting off each other several times per second.

Anna had traded her usual skirts and slippers for high boots, soft leather leggings and a thick, wool kiltie that ended above the knee. Never one to give a hoot what others thought of her choices, she had decided early in her training that 'standard' women's attire was basically useless in a fight.

Her trainer approved. Juan, long-time companion to Queen Elsa's brand-new husband, had taken it upon himself to instruct her in the necessary skills, and had been suitably impressed. He made it his mission to hone her abilities until she became truly lethal. He'd been even more delighted (if his predatory grin was any indication) when Sofia joined them in sparring.

The Spanish Countess had her own version of fencing garb: leather jerkin over a padded cotton shirt, a mid-length skirt made of overlapping panels to allow free movement, and a pair of (what Anna considered extremely stylish) black leather boots. Juan had spent half an hour during their first engagement gauging her ability and potential, and had come away impressed. Not many women knew their way around a sword, and he was privileged to work with two? More than once, he thanked his gods for the opportunity, and for bringing him to Arendelle.

This morning was their fourth lesson working as a team. He'd used the first twenty minutes going through two new forms with the women, and then spiritedly sparring with each for another ten. Then he had both of them come at him together, and explained the basics of fighting two opponents at once. His students, both quick-studies, were pleased and fascinated.

Afterward, he put Sofia against one of the other Sergeants so she could develop some muscle memory with the new forms, and concentrated on Anna. For today's main exercise, she used the blunted versions of the magical creations her sister had gifted her with. Originally there had been only one of the small, sparkling gems of ice on her necklace, and it would only take one shape, that of a razor-edged short sword. But in the ensuing months, as her proficiency improved and her curiosity bloomed, Elsa had made some changes. Now _two_ faceted orbs of magical ice nestled below her throat, and each one had three possible forms, depending on which word she used to activate them. Today, with Juan's safety in mind, she'd chosen the 'stick' form of the weapons.

Yeah. She was that good. Her new hobby had pretty much consumed her. And as Juan had discovered, teaching her the Way of the Blade was a task quickly and easily accomplished. As soon as she had built up the required calluses, polishing her speed and accuracy became simple. Sofia had been all but floored the first time she and Anna faced off.

Part of Anna's secret lay in the fact that she didn't have to worry – usually – about any wounds she might receive in a fight. She and Elsa had talked the situation over exhaustively, and finally come to the conclusion that Sofia could be trusted with the secret. Anna had wanted so deeply to be able to spar with her realistically, so she had to be taken into their confidence. While initially dumbfounded, she'd quickly come to relish the fact that she didn't have to take care not to cut her friend.

Anna's pain threshold had improved drastically, too. So now she was doing what she could to incorporate it into her style, making her an unpredictable and extremely dangerous opponent. Juan stated once that no one even had a _name_ for the devious methods they concocted together. Most of these stratagems, were they to be used by an ordinary human, would leave him flopping on the ground in a rapidly-growing pool of his own blood. They took to calling them 'traps', and referring to them by wry nicknames (Blood Bucket, Neck-Breaker, The Spurt, Skewers, et cetera).

Today's lesson had concentrated on leading her opponent to attack her exposed side so she could manage an unobstructed strike at his neck (Juan donned a thickly-padded collar for this exercise). The lower right quadrant of her tunic was, therefore, full of holes and slick with her blood. It was for that reason that all her training clothes were black, so as not to distract Kristoff with bright red bodily fluids.

Still, though, the practice yard was currently otherwise-empty for a good reason: outside of family, only Juan, Jørgen, the Admiral, four of the Sergeants (and now Sofia) had been told about Anna's powers, and Elsa wanted to keep it that way. This was yet another trump-card-in-the-hole that might be remarkably handy one day … and everyone who had anything to do with the running of Arendelle had recently learned that 'one day' was going to turn up rather sooner than any of them wanted.

Those thoughts ran through Carlos's mind as he watched them practicing from the high balcony on the eastern tower. After a few more minutes, he walked back inside and hopped down the long staircase, Sending, _**[[ Any news yet from the rest of the Council? ]]**_

A lag of less than a second preceded Elsa's answer. _[[ Lord Rolfsson and Lord Magnusson sent word they'd be here shortly after noon. Lady Larsen arrived a few minutes ago. We've been discussing the Hinterlands. ]]_

 _ **[[ Did you run your idea by her? ]]**_

 _[[ We were getting to that now. I could use a little moral support. ]]_

 _ **[[ I'll be right there. ]]**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _12:40pm_

"We can't … can't simply _let_ them sail into the _fjord!"_

"It's the most feasible of the plans we have available, and the one least likely to result in any of our deaths. If they come _here_ , it is _their_ supply chain in peril, not ours."

"But, Your Majesty, how would we-"

" _We_ would handle the invaders exactly the same way _We_ handled the last bunch. Being part of Weselton's navy doesn't imbue their ships with mystical power." She met each pair of eyes steadily. "It will give me greater satisfaction than you can know to demonstrate, in detail, precisely how badly they are underestimating Arendelle."

"… Yes." Councilor Eberhard licked his lips and squirmed. "I see your point. To an extent."

She tried not to bristle at his tone. Truly, she did.

"Please, Your Majesty, meaning no disrespect, and with proper acknowledgement of your powers, but not even you can be in more than one place at a time."

Elsa shot a glance at Carlos, who cleared his throat. "We, ah, do actually have a work-around for that," he answered.

A few of the Councilors perked up at his words. The late news that their kingdom was about to be caught in the midst of a war with two major powers had, at least temporarily, thrown most of them into a tizzy. Geert smoothed his sparse white hair away from his forehead and said, "I would – I'm sure we _all_ would – be anxious to hear what you have in mind, Your Majesty."

"As you know, one of the … _aspects_ of my powers is that under certain circumstances I can imbue my creations with life. After a fashion."

"You are referring to Olaf."

"And her giant guardian who stays up at her palace," put in Lady Larsen.

Elsa nodded. "Among a few others."

His eyes flicking between some of his fellows, Geert asked, "Others? Are you saying you have … made more?"

"Yes. During the, ah, _unpleasantness_ with that odious ex-prince last year, I had to improvise greatly to find my sister after she was kidnapped."

"Improvise?"

"Allow me to show you." She closed her eyes for a moment.

They watched her expectantly.

Presently a small, light-blue bird flew into the room, circled twice, and lit on Elsa's shoulder. She reached up and drew a finger delicately down its back. "Gentlemen, Lady Larsen, this is what I am talking about."

Lord Rolfsson gaped at the creature. "Is that … ice?"

"Yes. I came up with this idea while I was searching for Anna. I crafted four brace of falcons and sent them to find her." She made sure they were all paying attention. "I can see through this bird's eyes."

A gasp went around the table. Geert, an incredulous smile growing, observed, "You can keep watch over the borders. All the borders."

"Indeed, Lord Lindgren. I can. In fact, I am."

His smile maturing to a full-out grin, he said, "You've made quite a few, haven't you?"

"Several dozen over the last three days."

Carlos chuckled. "Recall, please, that we were only married ten days ago. Having our honeymoon cut from thirty days to four by this crisis has left her rather, ah, provoked."

Giving Carlos a mock-glare, Elsa said, "To your point, Sir Eberhard, while it is true that I can only look through one pair of eyes at a time, I can switch from one to another every few seconds."

"And the, ah, information is current?"

"To the best of my ability to measure it, yes. I would say the communication is effectively instantaneous."

Dankert Knutsen, spoke up. "Then you have _all_ our borders monitored? Even the coastline? That would be remarkably good news."

"Yes, I do. In fact …" With the first small sign of nervousness they'd yet seen during this meeting, she gave Carlos a wide-eyed look. He answered with an encouraging smile and a tiny nod. She smiled back and turned her attention to Dankert. "I have, in fact, placed a few over Weselton."

The Council erupted into noise, jubilation and questions. Some minutes later, order having been restored, she picked up the narrative and explained what she had learned. "So we do have a bit of time. Not much, but at least six weeks, possibly as long as ten, given the ultimatums Sweden delivered. Weselton's navy won't act alone."

Lord Magnusson asked Carlos, "Is there any way we can retrieve the rest of those cannon from Sweden?"

He snorted. "Even if they weren't being guarded, we don't have the equipment to move even one of them. One can't exactly _sneak_ around while dragging three tons of bronze." With a decisive shake of his head, he concluded, "Four is all we have, and four will have to do until we win this upcoming war."

"Eh. Two ships equipped are better than none, I suppose."

"Your Majesty," asked Lady Larsen, "if you had eyes in Stockholm, could you … well, might you be able to gather any information as to why King Charles suddenly decided Arendelle was the enemy?"

"Not yet. I'm working on it."

Carlos interjected, "I have my suspicions."

Lord Rolfsson said, "You mean that Cardinal."

"Yes."

"Hmm. I'm curious to know what he could have told the King that would so affect his reason. We have a treaty! How could he possibly think-"

Admiral Naismith, who had kept silent until now, interrupted, "Magic."

"… Beg pardon?"

"I think it entirely possible that Charles XIV may be under magical influence of some kind."

Rolfsson gave him a considered-but-nonplussed look. "Are you implying the magic-hating Cardinal is using magic?"

"Not using it directly, no. But our Prince Consort has given us many insights into the man's character. I think I can state without fear of contradiction that there are few limits, if any, to how far he will go to achieve his aims." Giving a nod toward Elsa, he concluded, "That vile man wants our Queen dead. Not merely dead, but humiliated and broken beforehand. I do not think he would hesitate to act in a way running counter to his own stated dislikes, if it let him achieve his ultimate goal."

"Agreed," said Carlos. "I consider it a failing on my part that I didn't take him out of the picture last fall. It's too late now to act preemptively, but once this crisis is past, I intend to correct my mistake."

There was a round of enthusiastic agreement. Mikael fought off a smug smile.

Dankert raised a hand. "All well and good, Majesty, but what are we to do about the armies gathering all along our eastern borders? Being able to see them is useful, of course, but … well …"

Elsa glanced over at Lady Larsen, who smiled and nodded. "Karoline and I have been discussing it. I _think_ we can come up with a civil defense plan to protect everyone."

"But," added Lady Larsen, "it will take a tremendous effort and we will have to start soon. Tomorrow would be good."

Lord Magnusson leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. "Then we should muster all the forces at our disposal. What do you need from us?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _4:30pm, Anna's apartments_

A muted sniff caught Anna's attention. She walked over toward Gerda and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Gerda? Are you … crying?"

Not wanting to out-and-out lie to the girl, the old servant remained silent.

Anna moved around to face her. "Please tell me what's wrong? I can't help if I don't know."

By way of an answer, Gerda simply held up the blood-stained tunic Anna had worn during battle practice.

"… Oh. Um, oops? How did that get there? Um …"

Gerda raised her eyes. "I know this is your blood. I've known for a month. But I don't know why you're doing this to yourself." She reached a hand toward Anna's belly. Drew it back. "I heard you. Talking to that little man. I can never remember his name, but he came with Señor de la Maria. Talking about the blood, about you getting stabbed. I'm … so afraid for you. I can't believe you aren't taking this seriously. What if you lose control? What if you actually take a real wound? You could die! The Queen can't possibly be allowing this!" She met Anna's steady gaze. "Princess … you have to tell her. Please. If something … something happened to you, it would _kill_ her! You _know_ that!"

"Gerda …" Anna placed her hands on Gerda's shoulders, gave a light squeeze. "She knows."

The woman's mouth dropped open. "… What?"

"Gerda … I'm going to show you something, and you have to promise me you won't tell anyone. Not even Kai."

"But-"

"No 'buts'. This is important. It's a state secret for now. Can you promise me?"

"Uh … well … are you completely sure you aren't … you know …"

"You have to promise me. Because _I_ promise _you_ , it's critically important."

"… Very well. I pro-promise I won't reveal to anyone what you show me … until you tell me otherwise."

"Good." She gave the stooped shoulder a pat, took a step back and drew a dagger. "You've known about Elsa's powers her whole life, right?"

"Of course. How could I not?"

"And now you know it's because our great-a-bunch-of-times grandmother is Fey. Right?"

"Yes. What does your, uh, ancestor have to do …"

"I'll get to that." She flipped the dagger and caught it a couple of times. "Shortly before my wedding last year, Elsa figured something out. She'd been talking to Morana …"

Gerda crossed herself.

Anna huffed in frustration. "She's not demonic! Her magic is natural, like Elsa's!"

"That doesn't mean I want to _call_ her here."

"Sheesh. Whatever. Well, anyway, Elsa figured out I have powers, too."

"… Wait. _Elsa_ figured it out? Not you?"

"Correct."

"But that doesn't make any sense! What powers?"

Anna took her dagger, plunged it through her other hand, and yanked it back out.

Gerda screamed.

"No-no-no-no-no! Hush, it's okay, it's all right, no problem!"

"Your poor hand! You're bleeding!"

Holding up her hand and flexing the fingers, she responded, "I'm not, you know."

Gobsmacked, Gerda stared as the hole closed, the scab formed, turned dark, and flaked off. Hesitantly she reached out a finger and touched the no-longer-wound. "But … how …"

"I heal really, really fast."

"But … but, your side! The blood!"

"Oh, there's a little blood at first, especially if it's a bad cut. But it closes up smartly, and it's gone in no time."

Gerda glanced down again at Anna's belly. "So … the tunic … where you were stabbed … there's … there's no …"

Lifting her shift to expose the area in question, Anna pointed and said, "See? No scar. Not even a mark."

"Dear Lord." She caught Anna's gaze again. "But … I don't understand. How-how long …"

With a careless shrug, Anna answered, "Apparently my whole life. That's how Elsa figured it out."

"I still don't understand."

Anna chuckled and motioned them over to the loveseat by her window. "Take a load off. This story isn't a short one."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle – Wednesday 06 April 1842_

Crafting the first Lens took Elsa hours and hours. The wards were tight, complex and intricately intertwined. They had to center on the wearer, yet recognize any Sentinel the wearer encountered. Conversely, every Sentinel had to recognize any Lens it came across. So it was at once a wide-area-array and yet a highly individual …

Okay. Hold up. Let's turn the clock back to early morning …

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _8:30am_

"You didn't sleep a wink, did you?" asked Anna, arms crossed, one slim brow raised accusingly.

The Queen cocked an eye over at her sister, sighed, and said, "Ten winks, maybe, and not all at the same time."

"Elsaaaa!"

"Well! I'm worried, so what do you expect? This is _crucially_ important, and I don't want to mess it up, and we have to cover everyone, and if I don't-"

"And if you don't get some rest, you won't be much good to anybody." Anna tapped a finger against her lower lip. "Seems to me we've had this conversation before."

"… . . . … Mmmaybe."

"Elsa. Look. I know how you feel about this. I feel the same way. It's going to be close, getting around to everyone, but the Guilds and the Marines and the newspapers and anyone else who isn't already involved in something critical is spreading the word. Bartimeous is even printing up five hundred fliers."

"Fliers?"

"Proclamation papers."

"What proclamation? We haven't even-"

"Sorry, meant to tell you, that was on me. I talked to him last night, told him what they need to say. Kept it simple. He said they'd be done this afternoon, then we'll send riders out to all the border villages. Everyone in Arendelle ought to have heard about it inside two weeks. I know they won't _all_ be able to come to the ceremony, but I bet a big bunch of 'em will. And then we'll know where we have to go, and can do it by the quickest path. You can get Dankert to plot it out, once we know where we should be. He's good at that kind of thing."

"Um … okay."

"Heck, for that matter, the local Tradesmen are planning a Faire to go along with your ceremony-thing."

"A _Faire?_ Seriously?"

"Hey, it'll bring more people in. The more of 'em show up here, the quicker you can get done and the less travel you'll have to do."

"I … guess that makes sense." Her right hand busied itself with rubbing her left arm. "Huh. A Faire. We're about to go to war, and the Tradesmen are holding a Faire. In early April. Saints above."

Stepping over to the window, Anna looked out at the sky. "I thought they'd be back by now."

Elsa followed her, stood by her elbow. "With the trolls, it's frequently hard to tell. I hope Kristoff was able to convince Pabbie of our need."

Anna patted her arm. "If not, we'll come up with …" Trailing off, she studied Elsa's suddenly-blank expression. "El? Sis?"

A relieved smile sprang into being on Elsa's lips. "They're on the way! They have the crystal!"

"Awesome!" Anna gazed eagerly into the morning.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _10:40am_

Elsa threw the polishing cloth on the workbench and stamped a foot. Seldom had the Queen been quite as frustrated. "What the … _devil_ am I _missing?_ This stupid fire crystal won't do a thing I tell it to!"

"Deep breaths, dear."

"Shut it, you."

Carlos grinned a little and moved up behind her to circle her waist with his arms. "I'm watching you weave. You're a little shaky, probably from being too tense. You need to relax and let the magic flow. Isn't that what Kristoff said Pabbie told you to do? 'Allow the magic to work its will.' I'm not entirely sure what the old troll meant, but I guarantee it'll be easier if you're not wound up like a child's top."

Leaning into him, she closed her eyes and let the back of her head thump against his chest. "I know. Yes. I know that. What do you think I've been trying to do?"

"Maybe it's the 'trying' part giving you trouble. Maybe you need a distraction to allow you to recuperate, to recover your equilibrium." He raised a hand to her head, started lightly scratching her scalp.

Legs nearly buckling, she breathed, "Ohhhhhhhhh … . . . … wow … . . . … how do you … do that … every time?" Her head followed his hand as he worked around to one side.

Leaning forward, he placed a tender kiss on the softness just under her ear. Then he _did_ have to hold her up.

"Sir … I believe I underst-stand what sort of … distraction you had in mind."

"You can have as much of it as you want."

She turned in his arms, floated up to catch his lips with her own. Half a minute later she touched down, took a step back, let her hand trail down his shirt sleeve until she could clasp his fingers, and gave him a tiny smile. "I believe I'll take you up on your offer." She pulled him after her toward their rooms.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _11:20am_

Her arms moving animatedly, Anna explained to Sofia and Maria as they wended their way toward the Green Dining Room, "So then we'll have everybody protected, so when the Weasels try to take any of the coastal towns, they'll … huh?"

The three women stopped, staring down the corridor they'd just turned in to. Frost covered every surface. Icicles festooned the ceiling. Random piles of snow blocked the way.

"What the heck?"

Sofia, confused, asked, "Is … this part of the defense plan?"

"Beats me."

Maria rubbed her arms against the slow but bitter air now sliding past them. "I'd rather not go down that way. We aren't dressed for it."

"Too true."

A sudden, whirling wind scoured up all the ice into a glistening sphere that blocked the passage, hanging in the air, and spinning rapidly.

"Huh," said Anna, stumped. "Well … it's pretty."

The snow globe's rate of rotation increased by the second until it flattened slightly. Anna's eyes widened; she grabbed the other girls, and dragged them back into the adjoining corridor.

Her expression one of pure puzzlement, Sofia began to ask, "Why did you-"

With a muted _crack_ , a huge spray of icy crystals blew by where they'd been standing.

Anna nodded to herself. "Thought that was gonna happen."

"I don't understand."

"Me neither. I'll have to ask her about it. Maybe it _**is**_ part of the defense tactics. Kinda weird, though. You'd think she'd be here to watch it."

They noted that the ice had all vanished. Proceeding cautiously, they continued on toward lunch.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _1:20pm_

Carlos (now in a different set of clothing, his previous outfit having been somewhat damaged from their recent activities) gave a nod of approval. "Looks like you mastered it."

Elsa glanced back and forth between the Lens in her hand and the icy creature in the middle of the garden. "You may be right. Though Lord knows it took long enough."

"Is this as complicated as what you went through to get rid of that demonic poison? I wouldn't think so."

"Eh. Didn't use even a tiny _fraction_ as much power. But complicated? I don't know. The fire crystal wasn't actively fighting me, but it _was_ being … vague? … standoffish? It's hard to describe."

He had to chuckle. "As is frequently the case. And I'll have to accede to your expertise. Your ward-crafting is always going to be leagues ahead of mine."

"As Anna likes to say, whatever." She raised a finger to one of the guards at the entrance to the garden. When he had trotted over, she handed him the new Lens. "Petr."

"Your Majesty."

"What do you feel when you hold this?"

"Ah … um … I don't … know what you mean?"

"Look at it."

He did. The pale-yellow object was lenticular, rather light, perhaps three millimeters thick in the center, and comfortably fit his palm. "Is this ice? I wouldn't call it cold."

"Eh, not exactly. It's solid water mixed with magic."

He squinted at it. "Is it … glowing?"

Elsa clapped her hands excitedly. "Yes! Wonderful! That's what it was supposed to do. Now," she continued, composing herself, "if you would be so good as to walk over there?" She gestured toward an ice statue a few rods away.

Petr looked in the indicated direction and raised a shocked eyebrow. He wasn't sure what sort of nightmare his sovereign must have had to prompt her to produce such a thing, but then he knew (everyone knew) some of what she'd been through. If crafting the semblance of such an obviously lethal beast-thing was the catharsis she needed, he wasn't going to argue about it. "Um … of course, Your Majesty."

He was about four paces from the statue when it turned its head in his direction. Petr froze, popping a sudden sweat.

Elsa called, "It's all right, Petr! There's nothing to fear. I need for it to acknowledge you."

"Ac _ **know**_ ledge me?!" His voice broke on the second syllable. "It … it …"

The ice-creature trotted over to him, nuzzled the Lens in his hand, curled twice around his legs, and settled on the ground by his feet, resting its head on its front set of legs. "… Your, ah, … Your Majesty?"

She and Carlos walked up to him. "Yes, Petr?"

"Am I allowed to ask what's going on?"

"Absolutely."

He waited for two breaths, blinking at her and then at the spiky thing on the ground. A light seemed to go off. "Does this have anything to do with the rumors of war with Weselton and Sweden?"

"Yes, this is going to be my answer to the overland portion of their attempt at an invasion. You might think of it as a civil defense plan."

Looking down again at the spiky, armored thing curled up at his feet like a kitten, Petr shuddered. "I feel sorry for anyone who tries it." Holding out the lenticular object she had given him, he asked, "Is this tied to the creature?"

"Indeed it is. I call it a Lens. And this," she said, pointing at the ice-being curled up protectively around him, "is called a Sentinel."

"Amazing. Are you going to give everyone in Arendelle a Sentinel?"

"Not on a one-to-one basis, no. But everyone will get a Lens."

"Lens, huh?" He held it up to examine it closely. "Okay. 'Lens' makes sense, it being clear, mostly. How does it work?"

Carlos chuckled. "It works just fine."

Repressing a smirk of his own, Petr asked, "So is this one mine?"

"It is. It marks you as a citizen, one to be protected."

"I think I like that a lot." Giving the guardian beast a narrow eye, he pointed at it. "Sooooo … are they intelligent?"

"They're smarter than animals. Maybe as bright as a young child. But they only have one mandate: to protect Arendelle … which is not going to work out so well for the invaders."

Petr stared at her closely for a moment, then nodded his head. "War, it is, then."

"Yes." To her credit, her lip didn't tremble. She still had a profound distaste for killing, and everyone who worked with or near her knew it; however, her distaste for a foreign power (or two) invading her land, stealing her throne and slaughtering her people was significantly greater. "Once these have been given to the people of Arendelle, we will send warning to the invaders that if they cross our borders, they won't be going back home. If they then insist on moving ahead with their plans, well …" She swallowed, hard. "It's their choice. Their deaths will be on their own heads."

"Brilliant, Your Majesty!" He rubbed his thumb over the slick surface. "Do we carry these in a pocket? I'd want to have it with me constantly."

"Actually, my intention is to attach it directly to your skin."

"… Begging Your Majesty's grace, but … on the skin? Like with glue?"

"Hold out your arm."

He trusted his Queen. Truly, he did. Still … "Very well." His focus shifted rapidly between her and the Lens. "Do I need to do anything?"

"Please hold still." The magic began swirling between them, raising the hairs on his neck. In seconds, it stopped. The Lens sparkled on his forearm, a finger-width behind the wrist.

Petr flexed his fingers, grinned, and moved his hand around in all directions. "I think I like my new fashion accessory."

"I was hoping you would."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _A.N.: What else do you think Elsa should be doing here?_**

 ** _Bring to mind her capabilities. In a one-on-one fight, she would be essentially invincible. Her wards would keep her safe from ranged attacks, while any number of her icy, armored creations could keep ground-based combatants away. Offensively, she's lethal in line-of-sight if she wants to be. But that's fighting just for herself._**

 ** _Here, she must contend with invasion via land and sea, thousands of militants over leagues and leagues of largely rugged border and coastline. (For reference, Arendelle is a bit larger than Luxembourg, and has about 200,000 inhabitants.) What can she do, that she isn't already doing, in the few weeks she has to work with? Recall that her number one priority is the safety of her people; also, she'd rather not kill if it can be helped (though she knows some deaths are inevitable, this being a war). Additionally, she doesn't want to alienate other nations, put Arendelle's trade situation into jeopardy, or come across as some kind of Avenging Force of Nature. (Although that, in fact, is what she could become.) What are her real options?_**

 ** _Think about it. I know I have._**

 ** _Later!_**


	19. Read the Instructions

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **As promised, here is the next installment.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen: Read the Instructions**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle, Elsa's Office – Friday 08 April 1842 – 1:45pm_

Elsa looked from Anna to Juan to Anna to Juan to Anna to …

"Juan says I'm a natural. Come on, Elsa, it's just a little tweak, right?"

"Throwing knives."

"Yep!"

"From your necklace."

"Exactly."

Elsa worried the underside of her chin with a thumb. "So you want to go scattering ultra-sharp blades around the landscape."

"No-no-no. I want to be able to defend myself from a distance."

"That's what the shields are for."

"And that's great and all, but … okay, maybe I meant 'attack' from a distance. The way I heal up wounds is cool, and will probably save my life someday, but not getting the wounds in the first place is even better. Right? And if I don't let the Bad Guys close enough to hit me, that's good, right?"

Staring off in the general direction of the window, Elsa grew still and quiet.

"Elsa? Please?"

"I'm thinking over the ramifications."

Juan asked, "Could you make the knives vanish one second after they stop moving?"

Her head jerked up. "What?"

"You're worried about leaving the knives lying around. Well, if you could put a timer on them, and fix it so that it starts after leaving Princess Anna's hand, sets as soon as it stops moving, and disintegrates one second later …"

"Ah. I see." She brightened perceptibly. "Yes, I think I can do that." Stepping close to her sister, the Queen lifted the magic necklace. "Yes. That will work."

"EEEEEEE!" Anna bounced in place.

"Please be still, Dear One. I need to concentrate."

"Right. Got it. Be still. That's me, Miss StillAsStone."

"And quiet."

"Now you're just being silly."

Elsa cocked her head and gave Anna the eye. "You want your throwy things or not?"

Anna did her lock-the-lip motion and stopped moving.

"Thank you."

The alteration took less than a minute. When Elsa stepped back, a third jeweled ball hung from Anna's necklace.

Bouncing again, the Princess asked, "And it works the same way?"

"Approximately."

"Hmm?"

"Pull it."

She did. The tiny gem of ice instantly morphed into a properly-weighted throwing knife almost a span long. Letting go with a squeal of glee, Anna flipped it up in the air and caught it … whereupon it vanished. Her mouth dropped open. "Huh?"

"Oh! I'd not anticipated that."

Anna then noticed the third ball was back on the necklace. "Whoa." She pulled it off and held the knife in front of her face, squinting at it. "Okay, so as long as I hold it …"

"I think I can fix that."

"No-no. No, I think it's better this way. If someone manages to take it away from me, he can't use it on me."

"What I mean is, I'll set the timer for one second after it touches something that isn't you."

"Ah! Yeah, I like that."

Juan nodded. "Good thinking."

Anna noticed her necklace was again sporting three gems, and frowned. "How long does it take to re-form? I wasn't paying attention."

With a giggle, Elsa replied, "Fancy that. _You_ not paying attention."

The little man offered, "I think it was less than a second."

"True," agreed Elsa. "It's about a third of a second or so. If you're going to be in a situation where you _need_ these knives, I want you to have a good supply."

"Cool." Still holding the most recent knife, she pulled the gem off again. "Sweet! Two at once."

"Can you handle two at once?" Elsa wanted to know.

"Oh, I don't know, Sis," answered Anna with a wicked gleam in her eye. "Maybe. But given how possessive Kristoff is, we'll never find out, will we?"

"Blast it, Anna!"

"Sorry! Sorry! It was such a great straight line, I couldn't pass it up."

"If you're going to do nothing more than stand around and tweak my nose for me, I have quite a bit of work to do." She made shooing motions. "Go practice or something."

"Thanks, El! You're the best!" She gave her sister a quick hug and skipped out of the room. Shaking his head ruefully, Juan followed.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle – Tuesday morning 12 April 1842_

The children of Arendelle City, predictably, were more open than the adults to the idea of Sentinels constantly prowling around. Case in point …

"Mama, Mama," called a pigtailed four-year-old, "looka da big kitty!"

A thin woman turned away from where she was browsing through a stall filled with fabric, and froze, staring at the thing. Of course the whole city knew about her civil defense effort, but this was the first time Elke had seen one. Even knowing what it was supposed to look like, she found it more than a little frightening. She rubbed at the Lens on her left arm. "Edda … ple-please come here."

Hanging on happily to the Sentinel's 'ear', the little girl pulled it along with her as she trotted over. For its part, the icy creation seemed entirely unperturbed. It sniffed at the mother's skirt, then sank to its belly and turned to look at the girl. Gleefully, she clambered up to sit astride, whereupon it stood and took its place next to Elke.

"… Edda …"

"We can go now, Mama."

The Market had been full, but relatively quiet up to that point. However, a few people noticed the steed and rider and began to point and murmur. The farther Elke walked through the crowd, the more comments she heard, and the more stares they received, to the point that she was studying her shoes and trying to hide her flaming face. Elke was not an outgoing person.

A pair of tiny twin boys scampered up near the Sentinel's head, whereupon it stopped. One of them tugged on Edda's skirt and said, "Tan we wide?"

"Sure!" Edda pulled on the icy ear and pointed down when it looked back at her.

Obligingly, the Sentinel lowered itself to accept the additional passengers.

By the time Elke reached the far edge of the Market, the Sentinel had nine children on its back (about its capacity) and there was a fair-sized group following, most of them giggling at the antics of the little riders. It was there they ran into a patrol of the Watch … who were also being accompanied by one of Elsa's late creations.

The two ice-creatures regarded one another, then the one with the Watch trotted up and leaned its head against the somewhat more burdened one's nose.

{{ LOOKS FUN }}

 _{{ IS FUN }}_

{{ WHERE MORE? }}

 _{{ NOT KNOW }}_

{{ WHERE GET? }}

 _{{ BACK IN MARKET }}_

{{ IS GOOD }}

 _{{ YES, IS GOOD }}_

The second beast broke contact, the conversation having taken less than a second, and made its sinuous way back toward the extensive array of stalls, in search of diminutive passengers. Elke hurried on to her home, finally plucking Edda from her perch, much to the girl's most vocal displeasure.

. . .

 _Elsa's Study_

The Queen looked up from where she and Jørgen were going over a set of maps, giving Sofia and Anna a narrow glance. "What did you say?"

The other two looked back at her. Sofia said, "I'm sorry, what?"

"You just … didn't you just say something?"

"I … no? I don't think so." She indicated the book in her hand. "I was reading. I don't believe I speak to myself while doing so. Not out loud, at least."

Anna shook her head. "Wasn't me."

Elsa gave them both the benefit of a suspicious glare. "Are you sure?"

Arching a delicate brow, Anna countered, "Are you hearing things now? Elsa, it's like I told you, you need more rest."

"I get plenty of rest."

"And yet, there you are, hearing voices."

Jørgen had suppressed a chuckle, which earned him a baleful eye from Elsa … but she let it drop, turning back to her Captain and grumbling, "Whatever. So, what were you saying about the Mendelssen Pass?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle's Eastern border – Thursday 14 April 1842_

Ole Sigurdsson came stomping in the door of his home with a bit more vehemence than usual, and it caused Lena, his wife, to give him a disapproving look. "Don't take it out on the door, whatever it is."

For an answer he walked over and handed her a sheet of paper. "Read that."

Quizzically, she looked from him, to the paper, back to him, and then took it. Clearing her throat, she read, _"By order of Queen Elsa, High Sovereign of Arendelle and Protector of the Dominion, to all and sundry come these greetings."_ Glancing up at Ole, she muttered, "Full of herself, ain't she?"

"Keep reading."

" _On Friday the 29_ _th_ _day of April in the Year of Our Lord 1842,  
will be held an investment Ceremony in the capitol city.  
All citizens over the age of twelve must make every effort  
to be present, as the Queen is going to bestow a Protection  
upon all such citizens, which will aid us in the coming conflict._

" _For those unaware, the Duchy of Weselton is preparing an invasion."_

Lena stopped and gave her husband a hollow look. "They found out already?"

"Apparently."

"How much do they know?"

"I have no idea. Keep reading."

" _We intend to resist this with all our power.  
The Queen will use her magic to create guardian Sentinels  
for this purpose. All citizens will need to undergo the  
Ceremony of Protection. This will make the Sentinels  
favorably disposed to the wearer and those for whom  
the wearer is responsible."_

"What the hell is a Sentinel?"

"You were there same day I was last October when Lucas told everyone in the tavern about the monsters she made."

"Loki's Eyes! Is _that_ what this means? She's making more monsters?

"Makes sense to me."

" _When_ is everyone else going to _wake up_ to what a menace she is?"

He gave his head a disgusted shake. "Keep reading."

" _Those who are unable to attend the Ceremony  
should send word with those who do attend,  
and the Queen will do her best to invest them  
at a later date. But take heed! There is no  
Guarantee that those who miss the Ceremony  
will receive Protection. It depends upon how  
many attend, and how many are left. Time is critical,  
as the invasion is imminent. In light of these facts,  
please apply all possible effort to attend the Ceremony."_

Lena let the letter fall to the table, stared off into space for a few breaths. She picked it back up and scanned it. "Where was … ah, right. ' _those for whom the wearer is responsible'._ " Rising to her feet, Lena wandered over to a side window, stared out at a tall beech growing some ten paces from the house. There was a small mound under the tree, surmounted by a memorial stone. After a minute she looked again at the proclamation. "Right. Age twelve."

Ole winced.

"I guess those under our protection would be children under twelve. But what about aged parents? What about an invalid? What about … _friends_ who couldn't make it to the Ceremony? I'd think anyone 'under our protection' would count. Wouldn't you? I mean, it would make sense, right?"

"I do. That's why I brought you this to read."

A fierce light grew in her face. "Perhaps we can taste revenge after all." Gazing back out at the grave, her eyes grew unfocused. No longer did she see merely a dark stone. She saw laughing blue eyes, long black hair, quick, deft hands. Silently, she walked out their door and over to the old beech.

Ole followed her, laid a rough hand on her weary shoulder. "Yes. Revenge."

They both looked down at the stone. Lena whispered, "You will have your revenge, Brigid."

"It will take us two days to reach the city, nothing barring our way."

"Then we should leave a week from Monday. It wouldn't do to be late and miss the Ceremony."

"Yes. We wouldn't want to disappoint our _dear_ Queen."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle City – Saturday 16 April 1842_

Rapid footsteps led up the short hallway running the length of the Spanish Embassy. Tomás Banderas perked up and watched as his friend Eduardo Santos came storming in. Stalking immediately over to the fire, the newcomer ground out, "The priests are all wrong."

Tomás knew where this was going, but asked anyway, "About what?"

"About Hell. Hell isn't hot. It's cold." Pointing at the window, he added, "And it's right … out … there."

A long-suffering sigh answered his statement. Tomás decided not to take the bait. "Did you get any more information on what those slimy Frenchies are up to?"

Eduardo pulled his gloves off and held his hands to the fire before answering. "All I know is what I learned from Carlos, and it wasn't much. Guillaume is still hounding the Queen, trying to get her to establish regular meetings of her Court."

"What can he be playing at? He has to be aware of Queen Elsa's preferences in that regard."

"No one," snorted Eduardo, "can fathom the twists of that devious mind. Now, he is begging her for weekly open audiences."

"Even now? Surely they can't be unaware-"

"Oh, they know about Weselton. I guarantee it." He pulled a paper from an inner pocket of his coat, walked over, and laid it on Tomás's desk. "These are currently being plastered all over the kingdom."

Tomás snatched it up and read it, finally blowing a disgusted sigh. "Well. Shit."

"Yes."

"So much for secrecy." He waved the paper. "If she's making proclamations like this, the time for diplomacy with Arendelle's enemies is officially over."

There came a knock at the door, an almost timid double-tap. Eduardo answered it, revealing one of the new servants, a young, though stooped, man. The servant pulled at a forelock in deference, and croaked in a halting pidgin of Spanish, "Come for check chamber pots."

"Bren, isn't it? That's your name?"

"Yes, sir."

Eduardo stepped back and held the door open. Bren scooted in, shuffled over to the ornamental brass container, lifted the lid to look within, closed it, and picked it up. He gave a jerky bow as he left.

After the door was closed, Eduardo remarked, "Tough to get good help."

"Would you rather empty the pot yourself?"

"Hah. I didn't say he wasn't useful, only that he seems a little dim."

"No argument there."

. . .

Bren hurried along the hallway to the rear of the building, carried the pot to the small midden at the back of the yard, and dumped it. He pumped water into it from a well, swished it around, and added the resulting slop to the heap. Leaning against the wall of rough wooden planks forming the boundary of the Spanish Embassy, he tamped a bowl of tobacco into his pipe, lit it, and smoked in contemplative enjoyment. No one, not even someone who was watching him closely, would have observed him slip a small, folded paper into a crack in the wood. A few minutes later he knocked the dottle out of the pipe, picked up the pot, and shuffled back inside. Sometime in the middle of the night, that piece of paper would be gone. If his superiors had new orders for him, they would be left in its place.

Bren went about his business, keeping the Embassy neat and tidy and swept … and keeping his head down and his ears open.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Kungliga slottet, Stockholm – 11:30pm_

A single gaslight offered dim illumination, casting subtle shadows on the scattered paintings from the Old Masters adorning the sculpted velvet of dusty-rose that covered the walls. Corinthian columns and gilded woodwork, pink Italian marble and a huge Persian rug, one-of-a-kind antique chairs and intricate stained glass surrounding the wide window had this room drawing a deep breath to scream _Opulence_. It was a fitting description considering its position as one of King Charles XIV's receiving chambers.

Doors in the King's Palace were expertly hung. Each one swung on silent, well-oiled hinges of stout naval bronze; each latch caught with the slightest of clicks; each knob or handle operated smoothly, flawlessly. If there was any ambient noise at all, such a door couldn't be heard opening. Nevertheless, given the emotional state of this room's occupant, he jerked and turned as soon as the door cracked, golden tassels on his shoulders swinging wildly, hands clenching in the white kid gloves.

The newcomer was dressed in soft clothing colored in random patterns of gray, dark gray, and black. His boots were of black felt, and made no sound as he entered, stopped, and closed the door behind him.

The man with the tasseled shoulders, in a tight, clipped tone, said, "Albrecht."

The dark man bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Did you find her?"

"Yes and no."

Teeth grinding, the King said, "Do you have any idea how much I hate cryptic answers in a case like this?"

"If I could give you another kind, I would."

"Then explain yourself."

"We figured out how she was taken and who did it. We discovered how they got her out of the country. We know they took her next to Hanover. But after losing their trail in Bremen … well …"

"What of the one you caught? You were going to interrogate him."

"Two of my men questioned him. They were, ah, perhaps more enthusiastic than they should have been."

"… He died?"

Albrecht nodded. "All too easily, by my lights. I suspect poison."

"Damn it!"

"I am sorry, Your Majesty."

"So you learned nothing?"

"They were heading south."

Bitterly, the King spat, "Toward Austria."

"There are other states in that same general direction. It needn't necessarily be Austria that's behind this."

"They have the most to gain from my embarrassment. And when the rest of our allies learn that we are planning to attack a sovereign kingdom with which we have a non-aggression pact … embarrassment will be the least of my worries."

Taking a deep, careful breath, the dark man said, calmly, "Then don't."

The King's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know that is not an option."

"It is. It's a poor one, I'll grant you, but it's better than attacking the Snow Queen. Your Majesty, my investigations have satisfied me that Queen Elsa has no interest whatsoever in conquest, but if you send your forces into Arendelle, there is an excellent chance they will be wiped out."

"You think I don't know that? The reports your operatives sent back robbed me of sleep for a week! Conventional forces are one thing, but _no one_ can fight the Winter." He shuddered and dropped his gaze. "If she were to make more monsters like the one at her ice palace …"

"Thus the favorable deal you struck to supply them with arms for their navy."

"Eh. I still haven't figured out their game with that purchase. Thirty-six cannon? For an entire navy? Exploding shot, yes, but still. They have at least a dozen ships. Thirty-six cannon would outfit one. A small one. And I know definitely that they could afford a lot more than thirty-six." He caught Albrecht's eye. "None of which helps me in my dilemma."

"My men are scattered throughout the German Confederation. They are smart, observant and thorough. We _will_ pick up her trail."

"Eventually."

The spy-master sighed and turned to look out the window. A steady rain hid the lights of the city, giving him plenty of nothing to stare at. "I am expending every available effort to locate Eugénie, Your Majesty. Within the limits you placed on my-"

"Yes. Thank you. Operating in the open would be worse, and could only place her in greater danger."

"So you have said. But I still think-"

The King cut him off again. "I've discussed this at some length with Oscar. We both feel this is the tactic we must use." He pointed at Albrecht. "All I need from you is another miracle."

Giving a resigned chuckle around a smirk, Albrecht remarked, "Pull a rabbit out of the hat too many times in a row, and everyone begins to expect it."

Charles XIV closed his eyes, took a couple of fortifying breaths, and walked the few steps to the spy-master. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder, he said, "I'm … sorry."

"Your Maj-"

"No, Albrecht. You're right. I frequently ask too much of you. But you are my best – probably my only – hope to get my granddaughter back from those … those …" He stopped when he noticed a thoughtful expression on Albrecht's face. "Did you think of something?"

"Maybe." He was quiet for three breaths, fingers gripping his chin, then nodded. "Maybe. I will need to do some digging, make a trip to Arendelle …"

"You? Yourself?"

"Yes." With a slight smile, he added, "I don't _always_ lead from the rear."

"This I know. What do you have in mind?"

"I don't want to get your hopes up yet, but we may have an out." Nodding once more, he said, "Go ahead and tell the Field Marshall to muster a small invasion force, say five thousand men. That's twice the size of Arendelle's entire military. The next time the kidnappers communicate with you, tell them you are organizing the attack and will be ready to launch into Arendelle by … let's say the first of June."

"I fail to see how this will pull our chestnuts from the fire."

"Give me … um, three, then four … should take no more than two … then seven … one-day buffer … right. Give me until the second … no, the third of May. I'll have a definite answer for you then."

"You and your secrets."

"You made me your spy-master for more than one reason, Your Majesty."

"Indeed."

"I need to get moving."

"Very well."

The door closed silently behind him.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle City – Sunday 17 April 1842, 1:10pm_

As they walked back from the church service under a heavy overcast, Anna leaned over toward her sister and nudged her in the side. Startled, Elsa skipped a step, frowned, and said, "What?"

"I don't think you heard a word the Bishop said."

"Don't be silly." She turned her attention back to the ground two paces in front of her feet.

Peeking over at Carlos, to Elsa's right, she caught his eye, grinned, suppressed it. Several steps later she said, "The cantata was beautiful, wasn't it?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Miriam has such a lovely contralto."

"Mm-hmm." (Miriam was, in fact, a soprano.)

"So well-suited to Brahms."

"Mm-hmm." (The piece had been Bach's _Sheep May Safely Graze_.)

Anna grinned, but tried to keep it out of her voice. "The Epistle reading was nice, too."

"Mm-hmm."

"The Second Book of Armaments has always been one of my favorite parts of Scripture."

"Mm-hmm."

"HA!"

That time Elsa did stumble, but Carlos's hand at her elbow prevented a fall. "Anna! What was that for?"

"You," she answered, poking at her sister, "are off in your own little world."

Kristoff, walking to Anna's left, nodded in agreement. "You'll walk into a wall."

"I will not!"

Carlos chimed in, "Only because I'd steer you around them."

Elsa stopped, crossed her arms, and glared at the other three. She opened her mouth to rebuke them, but nothing came out immediately. Her gaze wandered then over the squad of Guard trailing them, all of whom were smirking. After a moment she drew a sigh and let her arms slip down so that her hands were twisted together at her waist. "Okay. Maybe you have a point."

Anna pulled her close and rested her head on her older sister's shoulder. "Honey, I know how much you must have on your mind. I wish you'd share more." Giving Carlos a quick glance, she added, "With those of us who don't live in your head already."

After a quick look around at the light foot-traffic, Elsa said, "I guess I could do that." They resumed their walk back to the castle. "Well … okay, over the last … ten? Yes, ten days. Over the last ten days, I've put Lenses on everyone living in or around the capitol."

Carlos nodded. "It was a colossal effort. I'm still impressed with your organizational skills in mapping out your route through the city."

"Oh! That wasn't me. Dankert did that."

Anna hooted, "See!? See!? I told you he'd be good for that."

"Yes. He's already working on a number of alternate routes through the hinterlands. Once we have a good idea of where we need to go, his maps will get us there in the most … time-economizing … way." She paused; sniffed; frowned. Swiftly, an expression of distaste got comfortable on her face.

A rather short, pudgy figure wearing a ridiculously-ornamented pink waistcoat, a ridiculously-elaborate powdered wig and an even more ridiculously-curled mustache stepped out of an alley on their left, minced up to the party, and bowed until his hairpiece threatened to dislodge. "Your Majesty?"

"Ambassador Guillaume." Elsa fought down both her ire and her gorge. The cloying perfume the French fop drenched himself in failed entirely to mask the fact that he hated baths like a cat. The Guard trotted up, but Elsa put up a hand to calm them, giving them a determined nod.

Anna shot him a glare that should have left a ragged, bleeding hole in his face. Kristoff snickered (as he did each time he saw the ludicrous fellow). Carlos moved around so that he was slightly closer to the Ambassador than was Elsa.

"A most felicitous greeting to you this blessed Day of Our Lord? I trust your time of worship was beneficial?"

"Indeed it was, Ambassador. Good day." She moved to continue her walk to the castle, the other three following instantly.

Not taking the hint (as he _never_ seemed to) Ambassador Guillaume trotted to catch up. "Your Majesty, we were wondering whether you had made time to consider our request?"

She suppressed a sigh. "Are you referring to the schedule of Court?"

" _Absolutement_ , Your Majesty?"

Ambassador Pierre François Guillaume exhibited a lengthy list of habits, quirks and mannerisms that irked Arendelle's Queen, and topping that list was his stench. But his inability to drop a subject that Elsa wanted dropped ran a close second. So did another: that odd lilt in his voice that tacked a question mark onto the end of every sentence, whether it needed one or not. She stopped and faced him. "Ambassador. How is your health today?"

The question didn't seem to bother him. "Quite excellent, as always, Your Majesty? And yours?"

"Passable. So, tell me, Ambassador, are all your senses in working order?"

"I would say so, Your Majesty? Robust health runs in my family, you know?"

"Yes, so you've said. Several times. Which leads me to suspect that the problem cannot be laid to your hearing."

"Problem, Your Majesty? What problem can that be?"

"The problem, Ambassador, centering on your apparent inability to comprehend the word 'No'. By my count, this is the fourth time _this_ month you've broached the subject of holding court twice a week. You brought it up two times _last_ month, and my position hasn't changed. I will answer you one final time, and I will use French so that there can be no misunderstanding." She cleared her throat and switched to Guillaume's native tongue. "We hold Court in Arendelle over a three-day period, once every five weeks. That's ten times per year, as we skip Court for the Christmas season. We are never pressed for time, and no one complains about not being heard. It's a good system. We're used to it, and as anyone will tell you, the citizens of Arendelle crave their routines. I am happy with this arrangement and so is everyone else who uses the system. You appear to be the _only one_ familiar with our way of conducting business who _doesn't_ get it. So, listen carefully: I will not change our Court schedule. There is no need, I have no desire to put on such airs, it will benefit no one, and frankly, what with an impending _**invasion**_ , I don't have the time. So, no. We prefer our current situation. And if you value your position at the Embassy, you will not bring it up again." She took half a step in his direction, lips tight, frown firmly in place, and a strong breeze blowing in Guillaume's eyes. "Did I make that clear enough for you?"

"Well, yes, um, but, Your Majesty, certainly you can see how the political leverage would- _AAIIGHHH!"_

He found one of his boots was frozen to the cobbles. The ice crept up his leg to the knee.

Carlos gave a dry chuckle. "You know, Ambassador, I warned you last time not to press that issue. Do you have a death-wish or something?"

"I am a diplomat! How dare … ah … um, that is …"

"Oh, there are many words to describe you, Ambassador," responded Carlos, "but 'diplomatic' is not in the list."

"Ambassador," said Elsa in a low, silky voice, "pray, give me an excuse to send you back to Paris. Please? It won't take much."

"Ah … um …" He examined his boot, and shivered at the feel of the ice through the leather. "Perhaps I was … a bit … overzealous in my request?"

"Oh, you think?" Elsa motioned to her companions, and they strolled away down the street.

"… Surely you are not going to _leave_ me here like this?"

"That ice is thin," she called back over her shoulder. "It will melt soon."

Guillaume looked around at the small knot of citizens that had collected to view the exchange (and laugh at his expense), then at the heavy overcast, shivered at the ambient temperature, which wasn't much higher than freezing, and called out, "I think it may be, ah, quite some time, Your Majesty, given the weather? Would you mind?"

Elsa stopped and looked at him, shook her head, waved a hand. A small, pointed hammer of that hard, blue ice appeared on the ground in front of him. The Queen turned and walked away. The Princess shouted back to him, "Knock yourself out." Shortly they turned a corner and were gone. Guillaume stared sourly at the hammer, wondering how he was supposed to bend over and retrieve it. Inside another minute, the sky began spitting the rain it had threatened all day.

. . .

 _French Embassy to Arendelle – 1:55pm_

A soaking wet Ambassador Guillaume stomped into his apartment and flung his coat in the general direction of its rack on his way to stand before the fire. "Frédéric!"

His valet peeked out of the closet. "Ambassador? Um, can I get you anything?"

Guillaume held his arms out to the side and gave Frédéric a withering glare. "I'll give you one guess."

"Yes, sir!"

Shortly Guillaume was in his dressing gown, dried, re-perfumed, and basking in the fire's heat from the comfort of his favorite chair. "Frédéric?"

"Sir?"

"Brandy."

"Of course, sir." One snifter later, the valet asked, "Anything else, sir?"

"Get Julien for me."

"Yes, sir."

Less than a minute passed before the door opened to admit Viscount Julien Panettiere. He was Guillaume's opposite in many ways: tall, whipcord-thin, and clean-shaven. His clothing, too, marked them apart, being almost severely plain. He inclined his head. "Pierre."

"Julien. Please, have a seat." He motioned toward a chair near his. "I'm sorry if you were resting. I know your journey-"

"It is of no consequence. I slept well enough last night." Giving the Ambassador a piercing look, he said, "That was quite a little spectacle you put on out there with the Queen."

"Saw that, did you?"

"Few in Arendelle missed it."

"Humph. She has a much tighter grip on her temper than rumor would lead us to believe. I was sure this time she would cause me an injury."

"She concealed a world-changing level of power for twenty-one years. I'd think you-"

"Thirteen."

Julien frowned, mouthed something, and nodded. "Yes. My mistake. She began avoiding contact in her eighth year. But her abilities were not known before that, either."

"Her father's decision, from what I've gleaned. She kept it up on her own after they drowned." He took another sip of his brandy. "But, to use your words, it is of no consequence. She did assault me, though rather indirectly."

"An unsure foundation upon which to build your scheme. I doubt any in Arendelle would call it assault. Certainly not her court system."

"It is fortunate, then, that we do not have to rely on Arendelle's courts, is it not? I have the Grievance written. It will depart on a packet to Paris in the morning." Nodding at the other man, he added, "And you'll assume your 'promotion'."

"Are you planning on staying in the Embassy for the duration?"

"I have a soft bed, an extensive library, and my own chef," he replied sardonically. "I've been through worse."

"As you say." Julien rose and stretched. "Shall I petition an audience with Her Self-Important Majesty tomorrow?"

"I'd wait until Wednesday. We can afford the time. It will only be to our benefit for her to be distracted by the looming battles. It will make her more … pliable." He finished the last few drops of brandy. "Then you will be the official Ambassador, and I the disgraced poltroon. Your opinion of my behavior will comport with the Queen's to the letter, and you will gain her favor."

"And certain opportunities."

"Yes. Opportunities." He set the snifter on the small side table and laced his fingers together over his paunch. "I believe today's activities accomplished our goals. A nice bit of business, wouldn't you say?"

"I would." Julien took his leave.

. . .

Under the window, outside in the downpour, an unremarkable man of relatively-young age removed the listening device from the glass pane and stored it in a hidden pocket. He wasn't worried about being discovered, as the bushes there were thick, and his cloak camouflaged. Making his careful way along the wall to the edge of the courtyard, he watched for most of a minute, listening intently for any sound or sight of observation. None came.

He slipped unseen into the stable, and thence to his pallet in a dim, unused stall, typical for a farrier's apprentice. There, he lit a tiny dark-lantern, took a sharp crow-quill and a narrow slip of paper, and recorded in minuscule letters the gist of the conversation he'd spied on. (He had no worries about getting the details right: he possessed an eidetic memory.) When he was done, he rolled it up tightly and slipped it into a narrow copper tube, which he capped snugly.

Once night fell, he would ease out of the Embassy and down to the seawall, where there was a loose piece of mortar between two bricks. The space behind the mortar fit the copper tube rather well. His report would be in the proper hands by the following evening.

He returned to his earlier task of cleaning and sorting the tools his master used to shoe the horses.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Vatican – Wednesday 20 April 1842, 1:45am_

Cardinal Papella often had occasion to wish that sleep would come easily, as it had in his youth. Most days, he could take a nap if he felt like it (and did), but that was a poor substitute for a decent six or seven hours of real rest at night. He was sore all the next day, and the lack left his rheumy eyes scratchier than usual and his mind less sharp than it should be.

So it was this night. He'd been in his large, comfortable bed for over two and a half hours, but sleep eluded him. His bladder, on the other hand, was becoming more insistent with each passing minute. Sighing heavily, and with several grunts and moans, he rolled over to the edge and swung his skinny legs off, levering himself into a sitting position. A few years ago he'd had the bed lowered until his feet rested on the floor in this position. With a slow heave, he stood, then shuffled over to the chamber pot where it sat on a low pedestal, at a convenient height. When he finished, he stared at his wine cabinet for a bit, then tottered over that way. Perhaps a nice glass of red would help him sleep.

Plentiful moonlight streaming in through his balcony made it easy to find his matches and get a lantern lit. He was reaching for a bottle when a cold voice behind him said, "You are the Archbishop of Lucca. Leonard, Cardinal Papella. Correct?"

He jerked, and fell against the cabinet, rattling its contents, then turned to stare at the man. The visitor was tall, broad-shouldered, and swathed in dark cloth. He held a long dirk in such a way as to assure Papella that it could be buried in his heart before he could blink. A tattoo adorned the back of his hand … a tattoo the Cardinal thought he recognized.

After several seconds of silence, the man asked, "Are you, indeed, Cardinal Papella? Because if not, I will simply kill you and continue my search."

"Yes! Yes, I'm Cardinal Papella! Who are you?" He narrowed his eyes. "Aren't you from the Guild? I paid you already! What are you doing back here? You told me you weren't going to go after her yourselves, and I already paid you for that damned Hand, so …"

"Hold the lantern up to your face."

"… What?"

"Hold the lantern up to your face. I need to see your eyes."

With a trembling hand, Papella did as he was told. The intruder stared into his eyes for a moment, and nodded. "Well and good. Now get back in bed."

"Why?"

"You need your rest."

"Rest? Ha. I was getting wine to help me rest."

"I will pour you a glass." He gazed steadily at the Cardinal, subtly positioning his blade to indicate the less pleasant alternative, should he be refused.

With mounting dread, Papella did as he was told, sitting back down and scooting over to lean against the headboard.

Meanwhile, the other man – now wearing gloves – had popped open a bottle and poured half a glass. He brought it to Papella. "What was that hand you spoke of?"

"You know! Why are you being so belligerent? You sold it to me."

"You mean the Guild."

"Of course. You people."

"That is of no consequence. Tell me of the Hand. Why did you want it?"

"Why are you asking me this? You already _know!"_

"Humor me." He held out the glass of wine.

Papella took it, though the liquid sloshed and shook until he had both hands on it. "You sold it to me to counter the Ice Witch's powers. You gave me every assurance that as long as my men got it close to her, she wouldn't be able to use her infernal magic. Are you telling me it was all a lie? Did I waste my money again?"

The man said nothing for a few moments, then asked, "Where is it now?"

"I don't know. I gave it to my agents. But you already _know_ this! I know you do! What's your game?"

"How does it work?"

"How should I know?" The Cardinal was starting to feel more irritated than frightened. This man was making no sense. "It's some kind of ancient magic, apparently."

"So you object to the Lady Queen using magic, but you are willing to do it yourself? I can hardly conceive of a worse bit of hypocrisy."

"… As I understand it, the Guild has never cared about the motives of its clients. Why do you care now?"

With a disgusted shake of his head, the man sheathed his blade and gestured at the cup. "Drink up. You need your sleep." And he stepped over to the balcony.

Papella, sensing that this bizarre interview was over, breathed a relieved sigh and downed the wine in three long swallows. He moved around and got comfortable, then asked, "Have I answered your questions to your satisfaction?"

"Yes."

"Good. So, if you don't mind, I like to sleep by myself."

The man said nothing for two breaths, then turned and walked slowly back to the bed, where he stood, looking down at the Cardinal.

"What? More questions?"

Slowly, the man shook his head. "No. I don't have any more questions. But there are a few things I need to tell you before you go."

"… Before _**I**_ go? You mean, before _you_ go."

"Not quite." He walked over to a chair, picked it up, and carried it to the bed. Sitting on it, he rested his left ankle on his right knee. He pulled out a pocket-watch, stared at it for a few seconds, and nodded. "Tell me, how do you feel?"

"Invaded. How … how should I … feel … about …" The Cardinal swallowed, or tried to, then got a panicked look on his face. He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't speak. His breathing slowed.

"The poison acts quickly, so I'll be brief. Yes, I was with the Guild. I was one of the ones you hired to kill my Lady Queen. Her magic, though, was more than a match for our skills, and we failed. It was then I learned that she was truly the Avatar of Winter, She Who Walks in the Silence, and could not be killed by mortal weapons."

Papella's sight was graying out, though his ears still worked fine.

"My name is Nicolai Petrov. Yes, I was a member of the Guild. But my Lady Queen, through mercy I did not then and never will deserve, freed me of that chain. I now work in her service, and will do so as long as I have breath." He smirked. "Which is a great deal longer than you will."

His diaphragm nearly paralyzed, Papella tried to gasp. Air! He needed air! A poor little sip! His head spun …

"Your evil is at an end. They will find you in the morning. You will seem to have died of old age." He stood and picked up the wine glass. "It is an easier death by far than you deserve, but I must not make political trouble for Arendelle. To that end, your passing must seem natural. A pity, truly. I could have made it so much more interesting."

Once he could detect no pulse, Nicolai put the chair back where it was, wiped out the wine glass, poured in another finger or so from the bottle, and left glass and bottle on the Cardinal's nightstand. Then he extinguished the lantern, gently closed the dead man's eyes, and left via the balcony.

He wasn't sure what the Queen could do with the information he'd gathered, but he knew she had to be made aware as soon as possible. War was coming, and he didn't have much time.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note: Time is growing short for our intrepid heroes. Will Nic be able to get back to Arendelle soon enough for his information to help? Will the Sentinels perform to Elsa's satisfaction? Will Guillaume continue to be a TRUE pain in the ass? Stay tuned!_**

 ** _All comments welcome. (And I've only read back through this once, so if you find any gooooofs, let me know, 'k?)_**


	20. Significant Discoveries

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **I want to give a shout-out to my awesome reviewers! Your comments on the story (and your PMs) frequently make me grin – or make my day – or both.**_

 _ **To those who have most recently reviewed: Grrlgeek72, Deliberatee, IceWraith, Nitebreaker, skywisechan, CrunchDeNumbers, & anand891996 … THANK YOU! You get me thinking, you catch my goofs, you point out where certain things could make more sense … honestly, you beautiful people, it's like having a competent editor on staff. (I say 'competent' because there are a ton of people in the publishing industry – people who actually get **_**paid** _ **to do it – who are less than worthless. I've seen their work, frequently inflicted on my brother, who is a talented professional writer. Ugh. I seriously couldn't do what he does, and put up with the epic levels of bullcrap and stupidity evinced by those in positions of power in publishing.)**_

 _ **So, yeah. Thanks. And without further obfuscation, here is the next chapter. Enjoy.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen: Significant Discoveries**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, The Royal Baths, Friday 22 April 1842, 6:30pm_

A jet of steam sent a dense cloud of vapor into the air over the large bronze tub where Elsa and Carlos lounged. Almost immediately, the mist transformed into a dense field of tiny crystals that sparked and glittered, whirling into a sphere in the light of the dozen 'magic lamps' Carlos had placed around the room. With a thought, he turned their flames from a warm yellow to blue, and then to white, all of it reflected in the icy construction.

 _[[ I will never get tired of watching that. ]]_

 _ **[[ Love, there are many, many things about you that I will never get tired of. Now that I think of it, I can't imagine anything I**_ **would** _ **get tired of. ]]**_

She snuggled in closer to his chest, a relaxed sort of purr making its way past smiling lips.

A few minutes passed in contemplative silence.

 _ **[[ Would you like to try it now? ]]**_

 _[[ Here? I thought you wanted to wait until we were in bed. ]]_

 _ **[[ I thought we should both be comfortable. I wasn't concerned with the location. Besides, we're probably running out of daylight. ]]**_

Elsa considered his words. The bath had been her idea, and they'd been in the tub for close to an hour. _[[ Hmm … okay. It would be difficult to be more comfortable than this. The tub isn't pressing too hard on your back, is it? ]]_

 _ **[[ Ha. No. This tub is a wonder. ]]**_ He sent another spray of mist into the air.

Lazily, Elsa turned it into crystalline butterfly.

His arms wrapped more securely around her slim frame. _**[[ And so are you. ]]**_

 _[[ If you say so. In my book, you're the wonder. Even with enemies plotting to invade our land, plotting to kill me, I don't think my life has ever been more fulfilled, more … content. ]]_

 _ **[[ I know exactly what you mean. ]]**_ He bent slightly, kissed the top of her head, nuzzled her temple.

Elsa turned in his embrace and slid upward, pressing her lips to his. A few minutes of such pleasant activity left them light-headed. She gave a low laugh. _[[ Yes, I see your point. I'm not sure it would be possible to be more comfortable than I am right now. ]]_

 _ **[[ Okay. Let's start. ]]**_

Once their minds melded fully, both of them could feel the surge as their powers ramped up steeply, flooding their beings and bringing so many things into sharper focus. They opened that secret door into the astral plane, and began a slow scan of the city.

This task was the result of Carlos's growing unease. Over the course of his life, he had developed a keen sense for when he was being watched, and that sense had pestered him constantly over the last few weeks. At first he'd passed it off as everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new King Consort, but he decided after a time that there was more to the feeling than that. And he hadn't lived through two and a half centuries of travel, danger, and war by ignoring his hunches.

So, after talking it over with Elsa, they settled on this plan. He knew the feel of animosity, the taste of evil, the aura of bad intentions. That ability had helped Carlos sweep most of the criminal element out of Arendelle the previous summer. Now, it would be used to discover the locus of the late disturbance. They figured that if anyone was spying on them directly, they'd likely be doing so during periods of peak activity, so Elsa suggested just after dinner for their first go.

They started at one end of the docks, and swept carefully and minutely around counterclockwise. Nearly everyone was eating supper, preparing supper, or relaxing after supper, so the emotional continuum was pretty flat. Until they got to a house east-northeast of the palace, where things took on a decidedly darker bent.

. . .

In the house in question, 'Alexi Andropovich' sat in front of their powerful telescope, moving his focus from window to lighted window. Their position had given them visual access to many of the commonly-used areas of the castle, and they took advantage of it whenever possible. 'Piotr', his 'brother', was busy getting them something to eat. Neither man had even rudimentary cooking skills, but their master had supplied them with enough silver to see to it they stayed fed.

'Piotr' would be returning soon, and would want to go over their notes tonight so they could launch a pigeon in the morning with their weekly report. 'Alexi' kept careful watch, recording any unusual activity, and checking the castle routines against the log they'd developed, to make sure they could accurately predict Arendelle's reactions.

The pigeon, however, would not be leaving on schedule.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Ten minutes to midnight_

Three squads of dark-clad Marines deployed around the house. They'd already ascertained that everyone on the street had sought their beds; no light flickered in a window, no citizen walked the paths on a late errand.

The house had two stories, and their quarry slept in the upper floor. The door had a good lock and a stout bar, so they didn't bother with it. One of them silently jimmied a side window, gained entry, and quickly let everyone else inside.

They didn't touch anything as they made their careful way to and up the stairs, testing each step for squeaks, and avoiding those few that did. In just over a minute, four Marines surrounded each bed. Cloths were produced, quietly doused with chloroform, and gently placed over the spies' faces. There was no struggle. In another six minutes, both men were bound, gagged, and hidden in the back of a wagon moving quietly toward the castle, accompanied by one of the squads. The rest of the men lit dark lanterns and got busy ransacking the house.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Dungeon, Saturday 23 April 1842, 7:09am_

'Piotr' awoke first, his head pounding, a foul taste in his mouth. He made to rub his bleary eyes … but soon found that he couldn't move his arms. Or legs. Or head.

"Ah, you've come awake. Good, good." The speaker moved around to stand beside the table, where 'Piotr' could see him. A tall, swarthy man, 'Piotr' instantly recognized him as the King Consort. "Close your eyes."

"… What?"

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"To keep water out of them."

"… I don't …"

Carlos lifted a large ewer and poured the contents over his face, leaving him sputtering and coughing. "Great. Now that you're truly awake, let's get started. What's your name?"

"Who are you? Where am I? What kind of-"

"Bup-bup-bup … In the first place, you know who I am. In the second, where you are is unimportant. In the third … I ask the questions." Another flask of water hit 'Piotr's' face. "So. What's your name?"

The spy stared daggers at his interrogator. "I'll tell you nothing!"

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. See, we have all your notes, all your effects. That's quite a nice telescope, by the way. It will make a fine addition to the Queen's collection."

'Piotr' gathered his saliva to spit at Carlos, but another splash of water interrupted him. He got some down his windpipe that time, and spent most of a minute coughing.

"Let's get a few things straight, Mister Spy. There is very little we don't already know. The Duke was careful to supply you with kroner, but your watch was made in Weselton, as were your boots and hat, and your notes are all in English. Clearly, Andropovich is not your name. Your speech betrays you. English is your native tongue."

Silently, 'Piotr' cursed himself. He'd not had the presence of mind to stick to Russian. Now, he said nothing.

Carlos waited for a few breaths, and then shrugged. "Okay. We can do it the hard way, if that suits you."

"Go to Hell."

"Not likely any time soon. You, however, have a pre-paid ticket, so if I were you, I'd see if I couldn't maybe stay alive long enough to get right with your Maker."

The man kept his lips shut, staring in hate and fear.

"Have it your way." Carlos loosed the strap on 'Piotr's' right arm, and the spy tried to hit him. Carlos easily caught his wrist, and clamped it like a vice.

The bound man screamed at the pain as the bones ground together.

"It is not my intention to kill you. Not at all. I want information, not blood."

"Screw … you … you … bastard."

"Oh, no, that's just wrong; my parents were married. You need to be more precise in your insults." Carlos pried up the man's right index finger and wrapped a hand around it. "However, while I have no intention of killing you, I will be damaging various body parts until you tell me what I want to hear." His hand burst into flame, quickly cooking the spy's finger.

Gasping and screaming at the torment, the man finally said, "No … no … no more … I'll tell you. My name is Geoffry … Hopkins."

Carlos frowned. "You're not too fond of your fingers, are you? Here's a tip: I can tell when you lie to me." He soon roasted the middle finger.

"Aaaiiiighhhh! Damn it! Stop! Leigh … Adam … Leigh … my name …"

"Now we're getting somewhere." His eyes flicked to a point beyond Adam's field of vision … and the Queen stepped up to the table. Giving the spy a flat look, she held one hand over his injury. A soft, blue light enveloped the burned flesh, a radiating coolness that instantly eased the tension and pain. After a few seconds she nodded at Carlos and stepped back. The spy stared at his hand, open-mouthed. Once Carlos had strapped Adam's arm back down, the Spaniard leaned against the table, those black eyes boring down into his. "Yes, we can cure you, and we will. Any wound. Any damage. Any torture. You are now hale and whole again." He rested an open hand against Adam's chest, pressing lightly, and allowed it to heat up a bit. "Do you know what that means?"

Adam swallowed hard and nodded. He knew exactly what that meant. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

A smirk came to rest on Carlos's lips. "Yes. Yes, you will."

. . .

. . .

. . .

Elsa flopped down on the divan in their receiving room. "Dear _**God**_ , but I hate that!"

"As do I, Dear One." Carlos sat beside her, took her up onto his lap and hugged her close. "I wish it weren't necessary. But we found out what we needed to know with a minimum of effort, and no one had to die."

She sighed. Sniffed. Wiped at her eyes. Sniffed again. Hid her face in his shirt.

"Elsa, I'm sorry Weselton has brought us to this pass, but the alternative-"

"I know!"

He gently rubbed her back. Kissed her hair.

"I … I know it had to be done. I know this was the quickest way to do it. But … scaring people with my magic? Intentionally? … I mean, _torture_ … I … I hate it … hate it so very much."

"We could have simply wrested the information from his melting brain."

"Ugh."

"We have to look at this on balance. Neither man was permanently damaged. We got all the answers we needed, including signed confessions. We've also disrupted the Duke's line of information."

"I realize that." She fisted some of his shirt. "But it … it only makes me wonder wh-who else …" She swallowed hard. "… who else is sp-spying on us."

"We will simply have to maintain vigilance." She gave a quiet sob. He let another kiss linger on her hair. "It'll be all right, Dearest. We'll go through that scanning exercise once a day or so. If anyone nearby means us harm, we'll find out."

She nodded, since her throat had tightened up and she couldn't really say anything. _[[ I don't know what I'd do without you. ]]_

 _ **[[ I'll make sure you never have to find out. ]]**_

Trembling lips met his briefly. _[[ I'm holding you to that. ]]_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle – Sunday 24 April 1842 – 7:45pm_

Carlos, as he had explained when first they met, didn't hold much truck with the concept of 'denominations' … or any other sort of division within the general body of Christianity. Over two and a half centuries, his personal faith had been pared down and refined, burnt to ash and rebuilt, examined and re-examined and distilled until it bore little resemblance to the Catholic customs of his youth (or any other given systematic theology, for that matter). So, accompanying Elsa to the Lutheran service each Lord's Day morning was just as comfortable (and comforting) as attending the evening Mass at the Catholic mission church southeast of the city. They were equivalent in his eyes.

Some of his views had rubbed off on her as well. One that had become _especially_ popular with her was his position that lovemaking could happen any time of the day or any day of the week. He maintained that enjoying God's gift of marital congress on Sundays in no way affronted the Creator; Elsa had to agree. Today was a good example. The stress of the impending war had interfered with Elsa's sleep, and occupied her mind nearly every waking minute, to the point that Carlos decided she needed more than just a few stolen moments of distraction. Once he got started, she didn't take much convincing. They had, in fact, skipped supper in favor of twisting the sheets for a few hours, only brought to a stuttering halt when Anna pounded on her sister's door.

Startled (and rather out of breath), Elsa recognized the knock pattern and called, "Anna … _pant_ … what is it?"

"It's all this ice!"

"Ice?" Elsa had to stop and try to concentrate on what her sister was saying. She knew that sometimes in the throes of passion, she would accidentally create various forms of ice in their room. But … "Where is … is there ice out there?"

"Is there ice? Funny lady. I had to put my freakin' _skates_ on just to get to your _door!_ Dial it down already!"

"Oh." The Queen blushed and shot a remorseful glance Carlos's way. He only grinned and shrugged, whispering, "I can't help it if your reactions spur me on to greater efforts. Getting you to come undone is quite the rush."

The blush deepened. Clearing her throat, Elsa identified and banished the ice in the hall. "How's that?"

"Great. Now do the kitchen."

"… _What?"_

"The kitchen. You know, that place with all the guys running around, dressed in white, trying to prepare food? Or they would be if it weren't full of icicles."

"Um … oops?"

"And while you're at it, kindly remove the huge mound of snow in the throne room."

Elsa was getting quite exasperated with herself. Concentrating and exercising her will on the rest of the castle, she made sure the complex was ice-free. "I believe I got it all."

"Thanks. You know, you two _could_ flit up to your ice palace for your trysts."

"They aren't 'trysts'," called Carlos. "Nor are they dalliances or assignations or anything else remotely scandalous. We're married. We have a license and the Church's blessing to do whatever we want with each other."

Elsa, face flaming, smacked his arm. "Carlos!"

Anna was unimpressed. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. For that matter, I've _said_ it all before. I remember how you used to complain about us being too loud. But at least we didn't bury the place in snow every time!"

Elsa's forehead squinched up in a frown. "… What do you mean by 'every time'?"

"You know."

"Um … enlighten me."

"The fact that your fooling around causes snow?"

"… But … wait … every time?" She gave Carlos a slightly panicked glance. He muttered, "Hey, don't look at me. I'm always too occupied to notice. Or care."

" _Yes,_ every time," Anna confirmed. "Heck, it's a reliable way for the rest of us to know when it is definitely NOT okay to come to you with any requests."

That panicked look intensified. "You mean … wait … are you telling me that … that the _whole castle_ knows whenever we … when we, ah …"

"Well, yeah. It's been pretty ding-dang obvious, Sis! And not only the castle. A few times you dumped snow on other places in the city. Oh, and once you froze a couple of ships to the dock for nearly an hour. And there was that other time you-"

"Why didn't you _say_ anything? Seriously? It's been … Anna we've been, ah … it's been _weeks!"_

"Hey, I figured you knew. How could you _not_ know?"

Carlos gave his chin a contemplative rub or two. "Well. I'll be damned. That explains a few things."

His wife gave him the eye. "Like what?"

"Oh, it's … see, sometimes I hear these comments."

"Comments? What do you mean?"

"From different members of the staff, from time to time." He grinned a little. "Usually paired with an amused glint in their eye, or a knowing nod … heh! … almost like they were congratulating me."

"Congratulating?"

"Basically, yes. I hadn't noticed a pattern, before, but … huh …" His grin widened. "That explains Lord Magnussen's remark about polishing knobs. I'd thought he was making a nautical reference, but at the time I didn't get the connection." He began chuckling. "And Lars, the stable master, discussing breeding techniques."

"Breeding!"

"And the sous chef, Odelina, talking about my preference for main courses or appetizers and … heh. Ha-ha!" He flopped back on the bed. "They've all known. They've known all along. And they haven't been subtle about it."

"Wait …" Elsa's eyes widened. "Wait just a da … um, just a minute. So, when that shop girl … when she asked me if you would rather open a present slowly and carefully, or have the wrapping come off with the pull of a bow …" She hid her face. "Oh, dear Lord. I'm such a dunce."

"Shop girl? What were you buying?"

"… Smallclothes."

His grin stretched his face out. He sat up to face her. "You mean lingerie?"

She nodded, cheeks flaming.

"Which one?"

"The, ah … black set."

He roared his laughter, falling back on the bed again.

Anna called, "You two okay in there?"

"Oh, we're fine!" answered Carlos. "Better than fine!"

"Great. I'll see you later. Put some clothes on first." They heard her tapping away down the hall.

Elsa moaned, "Dear Lord in Heaven! How will I ever look any of them in the eye again?"

"Darling …" He pulled her into his arms and scooted them up to lean against the headboard. "It's fine. Really."

"How is it ever going to be 'fine' at all?"

"Because married couples make love. Everybody knows it. It's nothing new. We're married. More than that, we're still technically in our honeymoon period; therefore, we make love. A lot. They all expect it of us. I'm not sure why you would find that so shocking."

"But Carlos! Other couples don't send up a _flare_ every time they … um …"

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"NO!"

"Nor am I of you. Quite the opposite." He kissed her along her hairline. "I don't _care_ if they all know."

"You mean to tell me that it won't distract you? To know that everyone in the castle knows … it won't bother you _at all?"_

"Probably not. Might stroke my ego a little."

"Egad. Men." She hid her face in his chest. "Maybe her idea of skipping up to the ice palace …"

"Kind of hard to do if we want to keep our ability to fly a secret."

No response.

"We do need to keep that under wraps, right?"

She hiccupped a tiny sob.

"Hey. Hey, Elsa, darling, look at me."

Her eyes, when they met his, were beginning to leak.

He used a thumb to gently wipe them dry. "It will be okay. We have nothing to be ashamed of."

"It's no-not shame." _swallow_ "It's only … it's none of their business. What we do."

"True. But it isn't as though they were spectators, now is it?"

 _[[ I spent three-fifths of my life hiding from everyone. Can you understand how this might be a_ little _difficult for me? ]]_

He eased their psyches together, wrapped her in a warm blanket of true, real, undeniable love, and kissed her again. Then again. Then she kissed him back. Again. He Sent _**[[ I know. My Beloved, I know your struggles. I will do all in my power to help you work past them. It likely won't be easy, but think of it this way: your kingdom loves you. Almost without exception, they are thrilled to have you as their Queen. Can you see how they would rejoice in our happiness? So they know we are making love. That isn't a bad thing. It means you're happy. And if**_ **you're** _ **happy, don't you think it would make**_ **them** _ **happy as well? ]]**_

Being a rational, practical woman, she could see the truth in his explanations. They discussed it for another half-hour or so, Elsa getting more relaxed as she got used to the idea, and that led to revisiting their earlier activities.

It was full dark before they finally wound down.

At length, though, having lain still and caught their breath and gotten comfortable (Elsa having banished the snow that nearly filled the hallway), they were simply lazing in bed, enjoying each other's company. She lay half across his chest, churring softly as his fingers drifted up and down her back.

 _ **[[ I like that sound. ]]**_

 _[[ I like your fingers. ]]_

 _ **[[ In what capacity? ]]**_ The grin in his Sending was blatant.

So was hers. _[[ Any capacity you'd care to employ, sir. ]]_

 _ **[[ Keep**_ **that** _ **up and I don't believe you'll be seeing Anna for cocoa later. ]]**_

 _[[ I think I could live with that. ]]_

His hand drifted lower, smoothing over the parabolic perfection of her hip, then lightly gripping one cheek, eliciting a delicious little moan …

Simultaneously they picked up on a disturbance in the æther. Joining minds, they cast out to the intruding force.

 _ **[[ Someone seems to be concentrating on you to the exclusion of all else. ]]**_

 _[[ Yeah. He's … intense. I'm not picking up any animus, though. ]]_

 _ **[[ Can you tell where he is? ]]**_

 _[[ … Below this level. Near the rear of the castle? ]]_

 _ **[[ … Yes. That feels right. ]]**_

 _[[ Shall we send him an invitation? ]]_

 _ **[[ Probably not necessary. I can feel his determination from here. I'd say it's a safe bet he won't be giving up until he meets you. ]]**_

 _[[ … Oh! You want to see how close he can get without being detected! ]]_

 _ **[[ It would be a decent test of your Guard and the security systems. ]]**_

 _[[ Not a bad idea. ]]_ She rose and clothed herself with a gesture. "Why don't you go ahead and get dressed, Dear?"

Forty seconds later he cinched his belt and came to stand beside her. They paused in silence for most of a minute, following the intruder's progress.

"Methodical sort," observed Elsa.

"He is that. He's done clandestine entry a time or two before."

"A time or two _hundred_ , maybe."

Carlos only chuckled.

It was better than twenty minutes later when the man (they could tell it was a man) dropped lightly onto the balcony. They'd left the lights off in the room, standing quietly off to the side to stay out of the spy's field of vision.

 _[[ He doesn't appear to be using any kind of magic. ]]_

 _ **[[ True. And impressive. He climbs walls like a fly.]]**_

 _[[ But he's not here to steal anything. In fact … ]]_

The man approached the French doors, pausing to study the lock. After half a minute, he drew a small, folded paper from his jacket and worked it carefully into the crack, just above the latch. He immediately began climbing back up the rope he'd used for descent.

 _ **[[ Would you like to talk to him now, or see what's in that message first? ]]**_

 _[[ Let's read the message. I'd like to let him think he was able to pull this off without anyone the wiser. ]]_

Carlos grinned. _**[[ That's my girl. That's why you're the Queen. ]]**_

 _[[ I'm Queen due to the accident of my birth. ]]_

 _ **[[ Good fortune for your kingdom, then. ]]**_

She gave him a smile, then Sent, _[[ He's back on the roof. It should be safe to retrieve his note now. ]]_

They did just that. Elsa took it over to the fireplace and nodded at Carlos. He raised a hand and created a small fireball, bright enough to read by. They studied the paper, and the tiny, crabbed writing.

 _Queen Elsa,_

 _Please pardon this intrusion, but I have news of import from the Crown of Sweden which may aid you in the coming war. When you receive this note, please launch a flower of ice from the palace at noon the next day. That will let me know that you are willing to talk. If I hear nothing in three days, I will try to arrange something else. But please understand: what I have to say must remain secret at all costs. Lives dear to my King depend upon it._

 _When I have received your signal, I will come back to the palace and find you._

 _I have it on good authority that there are at least two assassins in Arendelle at this time. I have not identified them, but we did determine who had hired them. Please, please take all necessary precautions. I would recommend, to begin with, that you place a pair of guards on your balcony. If I could get here, so could the assassins._

 _You should burn this note as soon as you are satisfied that you can remember everything I have written. Again, secrecy must be the watch-word._

 _A Friend_

"Well. That's not ominous at all."

Carlos frowned. "You have your personal wards up." Glancing over at the French doors, he continued, "I think an unpleasant surprise attached to the balcony would be better than putting guards there."

"An instant ice prison, you think?"

"Indeed. He infiltrated the palace all too easily."

"What I'm wondering," she said, moving over to the doors, "is whether we might be able to use the astral plane to check the city over again and see if we can't find those assassins. They ought to be at least as obvious as Weselton's spies were."

"Good call."

Elsa took a moment to set the wards, did something similar to the doorway to the hall, and rejoined her husband.

"You want me to burn this?"

Taking his arm, she replied, "Not tonight. Not yet. I want to go over it in detail tomorrow. We're safe, now, in this room, and I'm tired and sleepy and I want to spoon up with the love of my life."

"Works for me."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Castle Arendelle – Monday 25 April 1842, 2:00pm_

"You ready?" Carlos asked.

Elsa shrugged. "As ready as anyone can be in this situation. We want to hear what he has to say, and this is how we can contact him. We already know he's no imminent threat. And I'm curious to see what he does in response."

"True. So am I."

Turning her attention back to the parts of the city they could see from their vantage point on the high balcony, she took a breath and then released a blast of magic straight up.

Early that morning, she and Carlos had gone over the note the spy had so quietly left in her door, picking it apart and looking for other clues. But it was clean, as far as they could tell. Elsa took Geert Lundgren and Kurt Magnussen into her confidence, along with Anna, Kristoff, and Juan. They all supported contact, and soon. To prepare the populace for her signal, and keep them from panicking, she'd had some fliers drawn up and sent around town proclaiming that she was going to test a new sort of 'public address' system.

A gargantuan, icy chrysanthemum bloomed over Arendelle, hanging in the air for three minutes before she banished it.

"Okay. If that didn't get his attention, he wasn't _paying_ attention."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Castle Arendelle – Wednesday 27 April 1842, 5:30am_

Dawn was still officially about a quarter-hour off, but there was enough of that gray sort of light that comes before it to see by. So Elsa and Carlos had a decent view of the garden from where they sat on a wrought-iron bench under a huge linden (the tree had been a gift from the then-Chancellor of Prussia to Elsa's grandfather upon his ascension to the throne).

"Oh, he's good!" whispered Carlos.

They'd been tracking the man's position for the last several minutes as he worked his way around the castle complex, over the wall, and past the various guard posts.

 _[[ I'm glad he isn't trying to kill me. ]]_

 _ **[[ I'm glad your wards pick up on things like that. ]]**_

"Hmh."

The interloper worked his way around the garden until he reached a nearby clump of dwarf Norway spruce, then paused.

 _[[ He's checking us out. ]]_

 _ **[[ No more than I'd do in his position. ]]**_

 _[[ So we just wait? ]]_

 _ **[[ Unless you want him to know we can sense him. ]]**_

 _[[ Definitely not. ]]_

He took her hand. They bent their heads slightly together and waited. After a couple more minutes, the man rose and came around to stand in front of the shrub. He held his arms out slightly, hands empty, and quietly said, "My name is Albrecht Klein, and I've come on behalf of the Swedish crown."

Elsa and Carlos found their feet and stepped toward him; her magic whirled in white and blue streamers around her right hand, just in case. She said, "Is one of your intentions to explain why King Charles suddenly decided to break our treaty and plan an attack?"

"That's my primary reason for being here, yes."

Carlos asked, "Are you carrying any weapons?"

"I have two." Slowly, he opened his jacket and removed a pistol and a long knife. "I'd like to place these in your care, if you don't mind."

Studying the weapons, Carlos Sent _**[[ He isn't lying; and I don't sense anything out of the ordinary about them. ]]**_

 _[[ Neither do I. ]]_ She cleared her throat and said, "Place them on that bench over there."

Albrecht did so, and turned back to face them. "May we go inside? I've managed to elude your guards so far, but it will only be a matter of minutes before one of them comes by to check the garden gate, and I would very much like for us to be out of sight by then."

Elsa said, "Go over there toward that arbor. There's a door in the wall." He did, and they followed closely behind him, Carlos having retrieved the weapons.

As soon as they were inside, Elsa said, "Kindly stop here and stand still."

Albrecht did. "Please, feel free to search me." He held his arms out.

"That won't be necessary." Her magic ramped up, quickly covering Albrecht, who felt every hair spring erect.

He didn't _exactly_ panic, but his voice shook slightly as he said, "I assure you, I mean you no harm whatsoever!"

"Fear not, Herr Klein. This is merely a precaution." With a final muted spray of yellow sparks, the magic faded.

Looking himself over, Albrecht said, "I don't feel any different."

"Nor shall you … unless you attempt to harm anyone."

He quirked a brow. "I see. So, ah, your magic extends to areas past ice? I'd deduced that from some of the stories I'd heard."

A smile ghosted across her lips. "I can neither confirm nor deny your assertion."

That pulled a chuckle out of him. "You may have missed your calling, Your Majesty. I think you'd make a fine spy."

Her only answer was to hold out her hand toward the nearest corridor.

They didn't stop until they were in the King's Library. A quick look around made Albrecht's brow rise. "This is quite a stunning collection, Your Majesty." Gesturing at one glass-fronted case, he said, "May I?"

She nodded, watching him keenly.

He didn't touch the case, crossing his hands at the small of his back, but quickly scanned the titles arranged there. He nodded and murmured, "Fascinating." Barely four breaths passed before he nodded, straightened, and turned to them. "Are you sure no one can hear what we discuss? It is vitally important to my plan that it remain secret."

"The room," answered Elsa, "is secure."

"Very well." He licked his lips and crossed his arms. "On the twenty-third day of March, Princess Eugénie of the Royal House of Bernadotte of Sweden, only daughter of Oscar I and Josephine of Leuchtenberg, and granddaughter of King Charles XIV, was kidnapped."

Both Elsa and Carlos gasped. Their powers told them without doubt that what he said was true. Carlos blurted, "How in the world …"

"We feel fairly certain that magic was involved. Either that, or some new aspect of science that no one else knows of yet. The perpetrators would have had to be invisible to escape as they did."

Elsa nodded. "And the terms of her release were that Sweden attack Arendelle?"

"Precisely."

"Well … I hate to put it like this, given the circumstances, but that's a relief, in a way. I'd not the first _clue_ why the King would suddenly … you know? It made no sense. Now it does."

Carlos said, "And we appreciate that you've come to tell us. But what is this 'plan' you spoke of?"

"Those who took Eugénie have threatened to kill her unless Sweden declared war on Arendelle."

"So I gathered."

"They have promised to release her, unharmed, once Her Majesty here is dead."

Elsa huffed in exasperation. "Dead? Again with this 'kill the evil Queen' business? What drives such men? I do not now have – nor have I _ever_ had – any intention of conquest of any kind! Why does-"

"I know. Your Majesty, I know that. So does my King. But he has little choice in the matter."

"I will _not_ allow my homeland to be overrun!"

"Nor does he wish to. But to keep up appearances, he has to make a show of invading."

Carlos's eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself."

Albrecht held out his hands in a calming motion. "Please, before you make any decisions, hear me out. This is a plan I came up with just over a week ago and so it may have rough edges. I'm hoping you can help me file them down."

Elsa stared at him for two breaths. "I'm listening."

"Thank you. Now, first off, please know that no one – and I do mean _no one_ – in Sweden's army wishes to attempt an invasion of your kingdom. This is due primarily to our long and cordial relationship. But running neck-and-neck with that fact is the certain knowledge that such an attack would be a suicide run."

"Hah," said Carlos. "So there _does_ exist a bit of wisdom in your military after all."

"We like to think so. At any rate, the King's generals and his entire Council have been trying to talk him out of this move ever since he first gave the command to prepare for war."

"Wait." Elsa held up a hand. "Does no one else know of the kidnapping?"

"Very few. The King's immediate family, the royal physician and one of his nurses, myself, and eight picked men in my employ."

"Your employ … and what does being 'in your employ' entail, precisely?"

"I hold the position of King's Spymaster. My men are … you might call them covert agents."

"A bit unusual for the Spymaster to be doing field work, isn't it?" asked Carlos.

"Quite so. But I didn't feel I could trust the job to someone else, given both the high level of the negotiations and the extraordinarily sensitive nature of the case."

Elsa nodded. "Very well. Continue."

"My proposal may be handled one of two ways, and believe me, it is entirely up to you which path you take. Both of them start with the Swedish forces entering Arendelle from the east, unopposed."

"I already don't like this plan."

"Please. You need to hear the rest."

She gave a disgruntled sigh and waved him on.

"What I need from you is the location of the pass into Arendelle that is the least accessible – but still possible – for a force of five thousand men to navigate in one day's time."

One delicate eyebrow crept toward her hairline. " _Least_ accessible?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Two reasons. First, it will appear that we have truly done our homework in finding such an entrance that will probably be lightly guarded, if at all. Second, because then it would be very unlikely for spies from the other two forces to have a chance of tracking us and learning that the Swedish army has no intention of offering threat to Your Majesty."

"… Really."

"Once the invasion force is entirely within the borders of Arendelle, you would then be free to imprison them."

"Um … how's that again?"

"While the army is in Arendelle, but out of sight in that remote mountain pass, you, Your Majesty, would surround them with ice. I have it on good authority that such an act would be well within your powers."

"That's, ah … well, that's true enough. To what end?"

"To buy time. I have men currently searching for Eugénie. We feel sure that she is still within the confines of the German Confederation, and have some hope of being able to pinpoint her location in another six weeks. Possibly sooner."

"Ah. I see. Given the scope of the coming invasion, taking that much time doesn't help King Charles with his dilemma."

"It does not."

Elsa considered him for a quarter-minute. "So. Five thousand men, you say."

"Yes, Your Majesty. That number was chosen to be roughly double the size of your own military."

She didn't comment on how he knew how many men she had at her disposal. "Am I expected to feed them all?"

"Not a bit of it. They will have with them provisions for the expedition, and should be … well, if not 'comfortable', at least safe. They won't starve, assuming their captivity doesn't extend much past eight weeks."

"What's your secondary plan?" asked Carlos.

"Ah. Well, that one is a bit more complicated, but has its own sort of appeal. My idea was that you could supply them with uniforms like those worn by your Marine Force, conscript them, and use them as mercenaries against the other two forces."

"Hmh." Elsa stroked her chin and thought that over. _[[ Dear? Do you think that plan as crazy as I do? ]]_

 _ **[[ It has a number of drawbacks, that's certain. Foremost of which is that we don't have five**_ **hundred** _ **spare uniforms, much less five thousand. ]]**_

 _[[ And I dislike the idea of so many foreign troops, armed and free, operating within our borders. ]]_

 _ **[[ Also, given this excellent news that we are at no risk of war with Sweden, you and I should be able to take care of the rest of the invaders. ]]**_

 _[[ No doubt. ]]_ She turned her attention back to the Spymaster. "Herr Klein, that is a generous offer, but I don't believe it will be necessary to place your men in harm's way."

"Oh, I never thought for a moment that it would be _necessary_. Merely expedient. It would help to throw off the intelligence being gathered by the other elements of this attack. They would suddenly be confronted with a much larger defense force than they had assumed, which might cause them to change their battle plans in such a way as to be to your advantage. But I wouldn't think of doubting for a _moment_ that you could defend Arendelle quite effectively using your powers."

"Hmh. Thank you. I think."

Carlos asked, "What sort of intelligence do you have on the other two arms of the attack?"

"Not as much as I'd like. Were you aware that there would be Southern Isles ships sailing with Weselton and Avalon?"

Elsa's mouth fell open. "… But … but that makes no sense! Though I couldn't say they've been exactly cordial, we _have_ been in regular communication with King Franz ever since-"

"Yes. You are correct. The rulers of the Southern Isles hold you in high regard. Given the nature of ex-Prince Hans's actions at your coronation, though, my impression is that they are having some trouble understanding why _you_ would want to have anything to do with _them_. They are being careful."

She crossed her arms, a bitter grimace passing over her face. "Frightened, you mean."

"Well … yes. They know that most monarchs would react badly to an attempt at regicide, and they don't know you as well as they would like. I wouldn't blame them."

"Oh, I don't. You're right. But I don't have to like it."

"Perhaps it will give you a basis for a closer relationship. Show them your personal side. It would set their minds at ease."

"That's … not a bad idea." She spared Carlos a glance. "Probably should have thought of that on my own."

"Thank you. At any rate, they have disowned their youngest son. He managed to escape his sentence, though, and disappeared. We had thought he returned here at one point, but we never had any proof."

"Oh, he did. He, ah, made a bit of trouble for us. But he's gone now."

"Gone as in 'escaped' or as in 'dead'?"

She tapped a finger against her lower lip a few times. "… Let's just leave it at 'gone'. He won't be back to bother anyone again. Ever."

Albrecht let that thought percolate for a bit.

"So King Franz disowned Hans and is wary of Elsa," Carlos summed up, "all of which doesn't help to explain why they would have ships in the invading navy."

"Ah. It is not an official act of the Kingdom. The ships are being commanded by the ninth, eleventh, and twelfth princes."

Elsa ran through the list in her mind. "So … Heinrich, Stefan, and … Uwe?"

"Correct."

"What, are they trying to pick up where Hans left off?"

"Something like that. They have similar feelings. They hold out no hope of attaining the throne. No decent marriage prospects." He gave a small shrug. "They aren't particularly creative in their thinking. So, they're looking to further their futures via conquest."

Carlos blew a raspberry. "Methinks King Franz had too many sons."

"I would not disagree. Half of them turned out well. The others? Perhaps not so much."

Elsa asked, "Why do they have no marriage prospects? That doesn't seem plausible. They _are_ princes, after all."

"You met Hans, Your Majesty."

"… Yes. So?"

"So if you take Hans and remove his fair appearance, charm, and intelligence, you get, respectively, Uwe, Stefan, and Heinrich: the Ape, the Clod, and the Dunce."

She blinked at that statement. "Oh."

"Basically, no one will have them. Hans, wherever he might be …" He let that trail off in hopes of getting the Arendelle royals to offer more information, but he had no takers.

"Yes?" prompted Elsa.

"Hans is twenty-three. Uwe is twenty-four, Stefan nearly twenty-six, and Heinrich twenty-seven."

"Huh. And none of them married."

"Or likely to."

Carlos interjected, "You said half of them turned out well."

"Yes. The elder four, and the sixth, seventh and tenth sons; strong, upstanding men of one caliber or another. Bernhard, the Crown Prince, takes his duties seriously and has studied to be King most of his life. The people of the Southern Isles love him … and his Princess Consort possibly even more. He broke with tradition, much as did your sister, and wed a local girl."

"… I believe I'd heard that. And they married some time ago?"

"They did, in the fall of 1828. You would have been nine."

 _Nine._ _The number rolled around in her head. She'd been separated from Anna for over a year by that point, and lived in perpetual fear of harming someone with her powers. She barely ever left her room, hardly ever bathed – or needed to – was losing weight from lack of appetite …_

 _ **[[ Dearest, you are safe now. We are all safe. Anna is hale and well and she loves you. There is nothing to fear. ]]**_

She leaned into Carlos, wrapping her arms around one of his, and sighed. _[[ You're right. I'm sorry. ]]_

 _ **[[ Nothing to be sorry about. It's something that will occur to you now and then for the rest of your life. We will deal with it as it comes. ]]**_

 _[[ You are life to me. Life and breath and love. ]]_

 _ **[[ As are you to me. ]]**_

Albrecht had continued, unaware of her internal turmoil. "She was the daughter of the palace silversmith. As I understand it, she foiled an assassination attempt at some court function. He was grateful, they began to see a bit of each other, and … well, you know how these things go. They have four children now. The eldest just turned twelve."

"Well, if he's anything at all like my sister, the people of the Southern Isles have nothing to fear."

Carlos said, "And the other brothers?"

Elsa held up a finger. "If I may? I did quite a bit of reading on the royal family of the Southern Isles after Hans came so close to killing me. King Franz and Good Queen Isolde are, by all accounts, honest and upright people."

"I wouldn't disagree."

"Then how did they manage to produce … well, Hans and Uwe and Heinrich and Stefan?"

"And Lars and Maximilian. They are the fifth and eighth Princes. Or were. Lars was … ambitious. The King discovered he was planning a coup. So now he's a lowly deck hand on a merchant ship that services the Caribbean. There wasn't enough evidence to warrant an execution, but Lars was stripped of his title and sent far away, to keep him out of mischief."

"Sounds wise."

"Yes. That leaves Maximilian. Heh. Such a poor choice in names. He's a lazy, disgusting slob with no more motivation than a snail, stays pickled-drunk most of the time, and will probably not live too much longer."

"So, a bit of an embarrassment," observed Elsa, "but not a danger."

"Quite. Unlike the ones currently plotting against you."

Carlos prompted, "But the others are decent, you said? I'm not familiar with the Southern Isles, at least past what I've picked up from Elsa."

"Yes," concurred Elsa. "I memorized the list of Princes, but don't really know anything about them."

"I'll fill in the blanks if I can."

"Very well. Markus?"

"An Admiral in the Royal Navy."

"Albion?"

"Minister of Trade. Quite shrewd, that one."

"Okay, how about Anders?"

"Good man. He showed a great deal of aptitude for direction and rule, and the King made him the Secondary Heir, even though he was fourth-born. He works closely with Bernhard."

"Huh," commented Carlos. "And there's no, ah, rivalry? No … how did you put it? Ambition?"

"Not as far as anyone can tell. Anders helps run the kingdom. He's talented, smart, sympathetic … a powerful force for good as far as their subjects are concerned."

"That's good to know."

Elsa continued, "Tor?"

"He's a Bishop. Spends a lot of time in Belgium, as I understand it."

"A man of the Cloth? That's a bit unusual for royalty."

Albrecht had to grin. "Your Majesty would be the reigning expert on unusual royalty."

"… You got me there."

"But in a good way."

"I'd hope." She ticked off names in her head for a second. "And Ivar?"

"He owns and operates the second largest merchant marine force in Europa."

"Whoa. Really? Second behind Avalon?"

"Ah. No, sorry. I guess it would be the third largest, then."

"Yes. Avalon's Trading Company is as big as the rest of us put together."

"That is correct. So … um … who did I miss …"

Elsa frowned briefly at the ceiling. "Leif?"

"Ah! Yes. Leif. He's the tenth son. He's the Ambassador to Russia. Poor fellow. Tsar Nicholas is a martinet."

"And that's all the decent ones?"

"Yes. That adds up to thirteen, I believe."

Elsa paused in thought. "And the three who are taking part in this madness … did they _steal_ the ships?"

" _Steal_ is a strong word. 'Borrowed without asking' might be closer to the truth."

"Is King Franz aware of that?"

"We think so, but only recently. He has held out hope that time, maturity, and the examples of their older brothers would bring those three around. No father wishes to despair of his children, even when it's obvious they'll never amount to anything."

Elsa nodded slowly. "I can understand that." Catching Albrecht's eye, she asked, "How many did they take?"

"Each prince commandeered three, so, nine."

"And Weselton has better than thirty."

"Yes. And Avalon has pledged at least ten."

None of them commented on Avalon's involvement. King Conrad had a knack for taking advantage of any situation that fell into chaos, and invasions always spawned chaos. Besides, he had a military support treaty with Weselton.

Albrecht continued, "I don't think the number of ships in the invaders' navy will make a significant difference in how you handle it, though, Your Majesty."

"Unless they split up and attack several points at once."

"Doubtful. My best reports indicate that they will try a massive attack on the capitol. They will attempt to overwhelm your defenses."

Carlos snorted. "I truly hope they do."

"Yes, well, that was my position. Since Your Majesty doesn't have to worry about mayhem in the hinterlands, and can concentrate on the fighting around Arendelle City, it really shouldn't be much of a fight."

"Which raises another question for me," said Elsa.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Are you aware of what is colloquially known as the Battle of The Five Ships?"

"Oh, yes. Pirates, as I heard the tale. You trapped a small fleet in ice and hoisted them up onto their sterns. It's a story of some merriment in certain circles."

"Hmm. Could be. But my question is whether Weselton is aware of the events of that altercation. Do you know?"

"Your Majesty … every seafaring land on the Atlantic is aware of what you did there."

She drew a long breath. Let it out slowly. "I feared you were going to say that."

"You seem worried."

"Think about it. They must know that an attack from the sea is doomed before it begins. Yet they are still planning one."

"Ah. You believe it to be a diversion."

"Possibly. More likely, though, is that they may think they have some way to counter my magic." She shot a glance at Carlos. "I've been putting on a brave face for my Council, but … truly, what other explanation can there be?"

"That … is a possibility, I suppose. But, how could they?"

"If I knew _that_ , I might be able to sleep at night."

Carlos drew her in close. "We will do some digging on that subject. But if they do have something – some artifact or sorcerer or whatever – we will discover it, and we will defeat it."

Albrecht, never slow on the uptake, took note of the 'we' in Carlos's wording. "Your Highness, I understand that you have some magic yourself."

Turning a keen eye on the spymaster, Carlos said, "Anything is possible, I suppose."

"I've heard a lot of rumors, but the most reliable seems to be that you and Her Majesty share a connection with the Fey."

Carlos didn't answer, only holding his gaze.

"What I'm getting at is that if the rumor is true, I doubt there will be much the invaders can actually do to you. It could simply mean that they are flying under a flag of false confidence."

"One can hope."

Elsa stood tall and brushed down her skirts, then clasped her hands at her waist. "Herr Klein, I'd like to go into some more detail on what we are to do with Sweden's soldiers until they can be returned home."

"As would I. We need to get everything hammered down tight so I can return to my King by May third and give him all the details."

"A sound plan. But I think better on a full stomach. Would you care to join us for breakfast?"

"Only if I can remain unseen."

"That won't be a problem." She indicated a free-standing book case. "If you would secrete yourself behind there, I'll have something brought up."

He made quick to do so.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _Kinda long, I know, but the only decent place to break it up would have left a chapter of less than 3,000 words, and I'm trying to avoid that._**

 ** _Let me know what you think! All comments welcome, and have a great weekend._**


	21. Intrigue and Uncertainty

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **I have plenty of reasons – but no excuse – for taking so long to complete this chapter and get it posted. Life has been difficult, and the less said about it, the better. But I think I'm back in the groove, so to speak, and ought to be able to update every couple of weeks (for a while, at least). Here's hoping.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty: Intrigue and Uncertainty**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Duchy of Weselton – Wednesday 27 April 1842, late morning_

A tiny blue bird fluttered up and down, maintaining its position against a brisk wind. Enough space separated it from the harbor below that any sailor who happened to look in its direction wouldn't see it anyway, but it kept the sun at its back nonetheless.

Elsa rested against Carlos as they lounged on their bed.

 _[[ I count eighteen warships with lots of busy sailors on them. ]]_

 _ **[[ Huh … well, we knew they were going to gear up sometime soon. ]]**_

 _[[ Still doesn't make me happy. ]]_

 _ **[[ Can you get close enough to hear what any of them might be saying? ]]**_

 _[[ The last time I tried that, someone took a shot at me. ]]_

 _ **[[ Are there any seagulls there? ]]**_

 _[[ Um … yes. A couple of flocks, it looks like, and a few flying around solo. ]]_

 _ **[[ Just make your bird look like a seagull, then. They shouldn't pay it much attention. ]]**_

Elsa paused, yawned, and gave herself a mental slap. _[[ Ugh. Sorry. Should have thought of that. I think my lack of sleep is catching me up. Hold on. ]]_

The tiny blue bird quickly split into two. It had enough altitude that it and its twin were able to regain flight well before hitting the ocean.

 _[[ Okay, now! Let's see … ]]_

In a very few seconds, both birds had grown significantly, and changed their shapes and markings to match the local gulls.

 _[[ Perfect. ]]_

 _ **[[ Now see if you can figure out which one is the flagship. ]]**_

 _[[ Oh, I'm pretty sure of that. There's one that's a little bigger, and a whole lot gaudier, than the rest. The Duke's Admiral will be on that one, I'm quite certain. ]]_

The pair of gulls flew lazily down and perched on the huge ship's figurehead.

 _[[ This thing's even bigger up close. It's got to be … oh, at least a hundred and ten guns. ]]_

 _ **[[ What a monster. I'll bet building it set him back a pretty penny. ]]**_ Carlos chuckled. _**[[ Be a shame if something happened to it. ]]**_

 _[[ Hush. I'm trying to listen. ]]_

But despite the proximity she was able to gain, Elsa didn't manage to pick up any truly useful information. After an hour and a half, she gave it up as a bad job _. [[ Maybe they conduct all their sensitive business in the Duke's office. ]]_

 _ **[[ We will have to investigate a way to get a spy into his office. ]]**_

 _[[ Maybe tonight? Less chance of being seen in the dark. ]]_

 _ **[[ Works for me. Anything going on elsewhere? ]]**_

 _[[ Let me look. ]]_

 _~flicker~_

Below her, the village of Råndsto nestled up against a sheltered cove. It was a common stopover point for local shipping traffic. A few villagers were working on a large net in the town center.

 _~flicker~_

A guarded pass in Fenrir's Teeth showed a pair of soldiers at the picket.

 _~flicker~_

The border road to Seljord had light traffic. Everything seemed in order.

 _~flicker~_

That went on for another half hour, with no hint of anything invasion-related going on. Elsa pulled herself back into the here-and-now and looked up at her husband from her vantage point on his lap. Then she snuggled in and bunched up some of his shirt in her fist. "I know how the saying goes about heavy crowns and the heads under them, but I have to tell you: this being a target all the time is getting old."

He laid a kiss on her forehead. "You've already started Arendelle on the road to self-governance. Once that's accomplished, you can toss the crown and we can go somewhere far away and stay blissfully anonymous."

"Heh. Yeah. They'll be sorry when they don't have a Snow Queen to kick around anymore." She pushed his shirt open somewhat and kissed his chest. "All I have to do is live long enough to see it done, and make sure no other force overruns us before that happens." A few more kisses made their way up his throat.

"Madam … are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"I'm thinking you have too many clothes on."

"I'm thinking you're right."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Ekørdstør, central Arendelle – 8:35pm_

Lena gave Ole a nudge with her elbow. He raised an eyebrow at her, then followed her gaze toward the door of the tiny tavern, where stood a solid, swarthy man wearing a light blue jacket with a red stripe along the bottom. They stared. He spotted them. Held their gaze for two seconds. Then he moved to a chair in the corner by the fire.

The couple took a few minutes to finish their drinks, then strolled outside. Half a minute later, the dark man followed them out, and spotted them wandering onto one of the trails leading out of town to the east. Three hundred paces later, they were in the forest and out of sight of anyone else.

At a bend in the trail where it followed the curve of the mountain, the couple waited. The new-comer didn't waste words. "Do you have a plan to get her alone?" he asked in heavily-accented Norwegian.

"We do."

"What do you need?"

Ole grunted, "To get it ready? Half a dozen strong backs and a week. Maybe ten days."

"Material?"

"We have it already. It's just a matter of getting it set up."

"We will need to examine it first."

Lena nodded. "Of course." She held up a cautioning finger. "But we have to attend that ceremony before we start anything else."

"Ceremony? You're going to let her infect you with her dark magic? Is that wise?"

"It's unavoidable."

"You know there are those who are likening her 'Lens' to the Number of the Beast."

"And once she is dead, so her power will fade, and her evil come to an end." The blonde gave her head a shake. "As close as we will be to Arendelle City when we spring our trap, she would be suspicious if she showed up and we hadn't been 'protected'. Besides that, she'll have her monsters roaming around as soon as the ceremony is over, and I'd rather not meet one without her talisman."

Giving a shudder, Ole added, "I'd rather not meet one, period."

"As you say. But what will happen to you when we take her magic?"

"I don't know." Lena glanced at her husband and shrugged. "Most likely it will all vanish. That's what I'm expecting."

"Eh. Your plan, your risk." He rubbed his hands together, briefly showing teeth. "Where will we be setting up?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, Castle Courtyard – 29 April 1842, 9:45pm_

"Elsa, c'mon, you gotta stop already!"

The Queen eyed her sister, scrubbed trembling hands against scratchy eyes, and nodded. "I know. I will. There are only a few more …"

"No! You're wiped out. It took you three tries to get that last Lens created. I'll tell whoever's left that you'll pick it back up in the morning. Right now, Sis, _you_ are going to bed."

"It took … three tries …" Elsa gasped, as a wave of dizziness hit her, "because he didn't trust me. I could tell … he was fighting the magic … right up until the Lens appeared." She swayed and collapsed into a chair. "Dear Lord, I'm exhausted."

Carlos walked up at that point, noticed Elsa's ragged appearance, and scowled. "Dear Heart. You told me you'd stop when you got tired. That would seem to be some time ago."

Anna nodded vigorously. "Right! Listen to him, El, he's making sense."

Her voice small, Elsa answered, "Okay."

Scooping up his wife, Carlos headed into the castle, tossing back, "I'll take care of her, since she seems unable to do that for herself."

"Great!" Anna went back through the main gates and surveyed the torch-lit gathering. Truly, there were maybe only a score left. She cleared her throat and raised her voice. "I'm sorry, folks, but Elsa's all in. We'll see to it that she gets a good night's rest, and she'll be back in the morning to finish up." That brought some muttering and furrowed brows. Lifting her hand, she added, "Anybody here need a place to spend the night?"

Most of them answered in the affirmative.

"Okay, cool, we'll put you up on the royal dime. There are plenty of rooms in the hostels." Motioning to one of the nearby Guards, she instructed, "Go get some chits from Jørgen."

A few minutes later, the Guard returned with a handful of small, stiff papers. Anna looked through them and nodded. "Okay, people, take these. Each one is good for a room, supper, and breakfast at either of the new hostels. Again, I'm sorry for the delay. Couldn't be helped."

The stragglers were glad enough of the royal chits, and thanked Anna loudly.

"Hey, it's no problem. You guys wouldn't be stuck here if not for the proclamation."

One of the men spoke up. "What yeh say is true, Princess, but the proclamation wouldn'a been necessary if that sorry Duke wa'n't tryin' to invade, now would it?"

She nodded again. "Got it in one, sir." Taking in the rest of them, she said, "It's late, and you probably all want your beds, so we'll see you in the morning, okay?"

They cheered her again, then hustled off to the promised rooms.

. . .

 _Royal Suite, 10:20pm_

"I'm not going to fuss at you … although it's no more than you deserve." Carlos kept his voice low so as not to aggravate Elsa's headache.

"Thank you."

Gently easing his wife down onto their bed, Carlos quietly chided, "I _told_ you that you needed to have something to eat! Elsa, you didn't even take a break to use the ley line!"

She mumbled, "Sorry. But the ceremony was a success. You have to admit that."

"Fifteen hours. You were at it for fifteen hours, non-stop."

"They kept showing up. What was I supposed to do? I told them to come, and they came. I couldn't very well abandon them."

"Sweetheart, you can't help anyone if you're too exhausted to stay awake."

She drew a long breath. Let it out slowly. "I know." She turned onto her side, closed her eyes, and vanished her ice dress.

Carlos blinked at her, a grin growing. "Elsa, I _know_ you don't have the energy for-"

"No, I'm too exhausted for that."

"… Well …"

"Snuggle with me. It helps me sleep."

He was shortly spooned up behind her. Not many minutes passed before they were dancing in each other's dreams.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Sweden – Monday 02 May 1842, noon_

The upcoming invasion of Arendelle was a closely-guarded state secret. So naturally every officer knew about it. Most of the rank-and-file troops knew about it. Hell, the cook knew about it. That being said, few of them were in favor of it, having heard all the stories about Elsa's ice monsters. Colonel Aronsson was one of the exceptions, and gleefully (if silently) congratulated himself on his situation as he strode purposefully to the main briefing room where the Staff were to have lunch.

This was going to be perfect. Perfect! He'd been willing to bide his time while waiting for the best opportunity to put into action his strategy for advancing his career, but then it dropped right into his lap. He'd spent the last couple of days ingratiating himself with Marshall Bladberg, the King's pick to lead the invasion of Arendelle. (Of course he had no idea what had led the King to order an attack on an ally state, but it fit so well with his plan, he couldn't really bring himself to care.) Only this morning had Bladberg hinted that Aronsson might be named second-in-command for the expedition. Now the Colonel would do all in his power to make sure it happened exactly so.

Thinking again of the tiny vial of poison buried deep among his personal effects, he had to fight to keep the grin off his face. Once he was in command of the operation, he would prove to the King why he should be the next Marshall. Dismissing the tales of Queen Elsa's ice golems, he assured himself any such obstacle could be overcome with proper planning. He would hand Arendelle to Sweden on a silver platter.

Arriving at the door to the salon, he straightened his uniform and put a carefully controlled, utterly neutral expression on his face, took a fortifying breath, and pushed it open.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Mikael's Office in the Castle – Wednesday 04 May 1842, 9:35pm_

Elsa stopped in front of the dark, heavy door, glancing furtively left and right before pushing it open. The note her Admiral had slipped her at supper had been highly cryptic, and left her both curious and frustrated. _'Come alone'?_ He knew she was never exactly 'alone' anymore. And what could be so sensitive that Anna couldn't know about it?

Mikael was sitting at his desk, and rose when Elsa entered. "Thank you for joining me, Your Majesty."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "No one to impress here, Mikael."

"Heh. Sorry, Elsa."

"So, what is this terribly important news?"

He came around and held her chair for her while she took her seat, then went to stand beside his desk at parade rest. "As you know, I have a rather extensive spy network."

"Yes. And you manage it well enough that I don't feel inclined to get involved. What of it?"

"You may also know that I recruited Nicolai Petrov as one of my agents."

"True. He didn't fit in with the Guard. They either resented him or didn't trust him. Or both. I take it your news has to do with Petrov?"

"About five weeks ago I gave him a mission. He reported back to me this afternoon. I felt you would need to learn the facts as soon as practical."

Elsa quirked a slim brow. "Well? Don't leave me in suspense."

"Cardinal Papella is dead."

She blinked and sat a little straighter. _[[ Dear? Did you hear that? ]]_

 _ **[[ I'm on my way. ]]**_

"Mikael, Carlos will be joining us shortly."

"I suspected he might."

"Then why did you want me to come alone?"

"I wanted to give you the news personally, and allow you to do with it as you wished. You, Elsa, are my Monarch, and as much as I like Carlos, and as much respect as I have for him, he is not you, and does not command my loyalty as you do."

"Why, Mikael. I'm touched."

"And I'm gratified."

The door opened at that point, admitting Carlos. He closed it quietly, then said, "So that rancid old sinner finally died. Saved me the trouble."

"You're welcome."

Two pairs of eyes blinked at the Admiral. Elsa asked, "What does that mean?"

"The mission I gave Nicolai made use of his primary skill set."

Carlos had to grin at that. "An interesting choice of words. May I assume the true manner of Papella's death is not generally known?"

"He died of old age, as far as anyone else knows."

"Capital."

"However, before shuffling off this mortal coil, he imparted some information you will need. It seems the Cardinal hired that Assassins' Guild to find an item for him to use against Elsa."

The royal couple leaned forward. Carlos asked, "Item? What item?"

"He called it 'the Hand'. He said it had the ability to nullify Elsa's powers."

"How?"

"He didn't know. He either didn't concern himself with – or didn't have the capacity to understand – the way the thing works."

"What does it look like? Is it an actual hand? A figurine?"

"We have no way of knowing … yet. I have my men scouring the cumulative legends of Europa for clues about it. If such knowledge exists, we'll find it."

"But," said Carlos darkly, "will we find it in time? How is it used? Is it a ranged weapon? Does it have to touch her? Who has it, if Papella didn't?"

"He had given it to his agents. That's all we know."

Elsa drew a quick breath. "The ships."

Mikael nodded. "That was my first thought."

Frowning deeply, Carlos asked, "You think it will be aboard one of the ships in the invading fleet? If so, it must be a ranged weapon." Looking at his wife, he said, "We'll just have to keep you away from them."

"But … but if I can't … no! I won't leave Arendelle defenseless!"

"Calm, Dear. They don't know about me. If they _do_ come into Arendelle's waters, I will personally go relieve them of all their sails. If _that_ doesn't deter them, I'll sink their damn navy!"

"And what if it affects you, too? What if you fall into the ocean and drown? What if-"

"Elsa!" He put his hands on her shoulders. "Sweetheart, listen. This thing, whatever it is, was targeted specifically at you. Something that damps or combats ice magic isn't going to _touch_ fire. It might even make me stronger."

"You don't know that!"

"No, I don't. We still need a great deal of information. But now we have some clues, and can take measures for defense that don't need to involve you directly."

"Like what?"

"I'm thinking a phalanx of coastal ice cannon. You can set some up around the entrance to the fjord. If they decide to be stubborn, your Marines can fire ice ballista bolts at them."

That gave her to pause, and she thought it over for a minute. "Very well. Let's say I can do that – and I'm not sure I could get it done in time – what's to say this Hand won't keep them from working?"

"Sweetheart … we have to strike a balance between being prepared and borrowing trouble. There's an old military saying to the effect that no plans made in advance of a battle survive contact with the enemy. I can testify to that from personal experience in a double-dozen skirmishes. We will have to play things by ear at some point. But now that we know about this Hand, we can make contingencies." He used a thumb to clear the shimmer from her lower lids. "We'll make it out of this. I can't promise 'unscathed', but we'll make it."

Drawing several long breaths, she clasped his hands in hers and whispered, "I'm holding you to that."

Carlos turned to Mikael. "So. Where do we start?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Vatican, Rome – Thursday 05 May 1842, 10:05am_

A worn leather bag made a dull thunk on the desk's dark wood. "Lorenzo."

The man on the chair behind the desk turned rheumy eyes upward. "Giuseppe."

"Got a few for Papella."

That pulled a sigh from the seated man. "Again?"

"You know word gets around slow. Ain't that many outside of Rome what knows he croaked, and a damn sight fewer that give a crap."

The first sigh was joined by an echo. "Fine. I'll take care of it."

"Like you took care of the last batch?"

"… Meaning what?"

"Meaning Father Torrolli chewed me a new one for not deliverin' his parish report, when I know good and well I gave it to you."

Eyes narrowing, Lorenzo tried to think of an excuse. His brain wasn't cooperating.

Giuseppe laid a scrap of parchment on the desk. "Got a list of ever' message in that bag. This is my copy. Sign it."

Grumbling darkly, Lorenzo did as he was told.

"And here's yours." Giuseppe gave the man another list, and a brief, sardonic salute. "See you next week."

"Humph." He watched with poorly masked disgust as the delivery man slipped out the door. "Bastard."

Despite his family connections, Lorenzo Rossini was not bright. Nor ambitious. Nor particularly energetic. Thus, his satisfaction with his job, at least until quite recently. Coincidentally, these were also the qualifications that Cardinal Papella had prized, since the man's complete lack of curiosity made him the perfect one to handle the old sinner's correspondence. Lorenzo received the missives and passed them on, took Papella's answers and sent them out, and spent most of his time napping at his desk. (You know: a typical government job.) He didn't know what was in the letters, and _truly_ did not care.

The late Cardinal's untimely death ("untimely" only in his mind, as the remainder of the people he'd worked with felt nothing but relief) had turned his placid existence on its ear. Now, he had been told, he would be expected to go through the letters and reports (BORRRRRING!) and decide who needed to know about them. The College had appointed Cardinal Berigno to step in as the Pope's temporary Secretary until everyone could decide on a replacement. Gregory hadn't given said position much thought yet.

With a muffled curse, Lorenzo upended the satchel, spilling several envelopes and packets on the smooth wood. He shuffled through them, briefly looking in vain to see if any were addressed to someone other than his late employer. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he rubbed at his scratchy eyes with the heels of both hands, took a few long breaths, and pulled a nearly-empty bottle of brandy out of the lower right drawer. Considering how much difficulty he had with reading, this would likely take all afternoon.

. . .

 _5:20pm_

The longer Cardinal Berigno delved into the affairs of his late predecessor, the more disquiet he felt about it.

Papella had one room dedicated to the Pope's business. It was a paragon of order and efficiency, and the new proprietor was delighted to take it over. But it was only one room of the eight he'd occupied, and the story in the rest of them was decidedly different … almost as if Papella hadn't wanted anyone to find out what he was doing. Now, after Berigno'd had a few days to sift through it, he was certain Papella had been involved in some kind of espionage. At a minimum.

It was in this frame of mind that he absently said, "Come," when someone knocked on his door.

Lorenzo pushed the door open slowly and shuffled across to the Cardinal's desk, standing silently until Berigno looked up. "Ah. Rossini." He glanced at the large packet in Lorenzo's hands. "Is that correspondence for Papella?"

Giving a sullen nod, Lorenzo handed it over, executed a minimal bow, and slumped out.

Berigno gave a quiet groan. _I'm going to have to do something about that man. How Papella ever put up with him …_ He let that thought taper off and considered the circumstances for close to a minute, frowning grimly. Perhaps there was method to that decision as well? Shaking his head, he opened the packet and began reading.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Ulm, German Confederation – Friday 06 May 1842, noon_

From the road, this humble tavern wouldn't entice anyone of good sense to turn in for a drink. 'Disreputable' hardly covered it. A third of the roof was moldy thatch, the rest rotten shakes. There had been a porch at some point in the past, but now two simple planks propped against the threshold were all that led into the building from the mud outside. Of the four windows facing the road, two were boarded up and one broken. The last was barely clean enough to pass light, much less see through. The only thing positive about its appearance was the sign over the door, a relatively newly-painted board proclaiming it "The Turk's Head".

Inside, the front room's cramped space held two scarred tables and five three-legged stools. The fireplace wouldn't draw, so the room pressed a perpetual damp chill into anyone unlucky (or unwise) enough to patronize the bar. That bar served one kind of beer. It was sour and flat.

None of this was by accident.

Two years before, an anonymous buyer had purchased the abandoned tavern (paid in gold, no questions asked) and spent a few weeks "renovating" it. They did employ a bar-tender, since they had to keep up appearances, but he rarely had anything to do. It was all a front for the real business of the location, that taking place in the back, behind solid, heavily-locked, even-more-heavily-guarded doors.

A rotten woodpile at the rear of the hovel masked a secret entrance, and it was behind that portal that most of the important issues got handled. Case in point …

The man at the small desk, one Hans Brahms, had a formidable appearance, tall and broad, bald and scarred, with gray eyes that missed little, under beetling brows of the same shade. He glanced up when he heard a key turn the lock on the narrow door opposite. He laid a hand on the pistol on the bench beside him.

The man who entered looked enough like the other that they could pass for brothers. They were, however, totally unrelated. Hans Kemperner wasn't even from Austria, instead calling eastern France home.

Of their gang of a dozen, four had the given name of 'Hans'. The others (and, eventually, the ones with that name) took to calling them B-Hans, K-Hans, F-Hans, and M-Hans.

B-Hans relaxed and studied K-Hans, giving him a quick up-and-down. "You look undamaged."

K-Hans snorted. "You were worried? How cute."

"About you? Please." He stood and gathered papers into a small pile. "And the witch? What was her name? Strange … something?"

"Lestrange."

"Right. Lucretia. That was one weird bitch."

"Yeah, loony."

"So, dead?"

"Dead," K-Hans answered with a nod. "Finally."

"Good."

"They're a lot harder to kill than we'd been led to believe."

"Didn't have to burn her at the stake, did you?"

"Funny man. We thought getting that stick away from her was the hard part."

"No?"

"Had to lop her head off. The poison didn't work, and stabbing her just made her mad."

"Damn."

"Yeah. She was a piece of work."

"No matter. With her dead, the last one that could rat us out is gone."

K-Hans scanned the pile of papers. "From the higher-ups?"

"Yeah."

"When are we moving the Princess again?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Good. She's been here nearly a week. Starting to make me itch, it is."

"Got that right."

"Hey, is there any of that schnapps left?"

B-Hans nodded toward a cabinet. "Help yourself."

. . .

Across the road, the land sloped up, forming a set of short, steep hills, most of them thickly wooded. Concealed in among the trees, pressed up to the gnarled bole of an old oak, stood a man in a long, gray-green coat. He held a powerful telescope, with which he scanned the thin scrub beyond the tavern. His informant assured him that if he was patient enough, he would discover what he wanted to know at this tumbledown shack.

Patience, he had in plenty, and it had served him well many times. What he lacked was the luxury of enough time to exercise it. Settling down, well out of sight, he considered his options, liking none of them. Once he accomplished his objective, he would need time to travel to their safe-house, write out a message, and send the pigeon. His Master would need to have the information by the final week of the month, and that left him with a narrow margin, indeed.

Hunkering down into a hollow between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, he found a comfortable position and resumed his surveillance.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Monday 09 May 1842, 7:30am_

The Pope, in keeping with his history as a Benedictine monk, kept excruciatingly regular hours, and Berigno knew them well. He was waiting when the leader of the Roman Church finished his breakfast and strode out of the dining hall.

Considering he had seen the passage of over seven and a half decades, Pope Gregory XVI enjoyed robust heath. No cane or walking stick for him; he had walked everywhere he went practically his whole life, and held a dim view of those who couldn't keep up. Giving a slight nod to his new Secretary, he continued on his way, knowing the Cardinal would fall into step at his side. "Must be something important on your mind, Alberto."

"Indeed, Your Holiness. But what I would like to discuss should wait until we are in more secure quarters."

That brought a quirk to the Pope's brow. They were silent until arriving at the Apostolic Palace, and Gregory's apartments. The old man took a seat and gave Berigno an expectant look.

The Cardinal clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. "Holiness, how well did you know Cardinal Papella?"

"That's an interesting question, Alberto. Why do you ask? Have you found something … unusual in his rooms?"

"Yes. To be blunt, he was carrying on a number of quasi-military operations against foreign powers."

"… Would you care to explain that?"

"I will, of course, but first I have another question."

"Go on."

"Are you aware of the tales circulating around Europa concerning Queen Elsa of Arendelle?"

"I have heard some, though many of them contradict each other. Supposedly she has some sort of control over the weather. The nature and origin of this ability is suspect."

"Yes. I have confirmed to my satisfaction that she does, indeed, have that power. She can apparently create ice."

"Create ice?"

"Yes. From nothing."

"Sorcery? We will have to do something about that."

"Possibly not sorcery. My sources all agree that she was born with the ability."

That scotched the Pope. "Surely she is not wielding Holy Power! Norway is Protestant! She's not of the Faith!" He frowned. "And what does this have to do with Papella?"

"Papella had a huge vendetta against Queen Elsa. From what I've managed to piece together so far, he hired a mercenary band – more probably pirates – to attack Arendelle and depose her. When that failed, he contracted with an assassins' guild to capture her and bring her to Rome."

"Surely you jest. Abduct a reigning monarch? Such an act would precipitate wars all over the continent. Papella may have held ill feelings, but he wasn't stupid."

"No, that he certainly wasn't. But he did seem to have a blind spot where this Queen is concerned. In any case, to the best of my ability to determine, his agents are still after her."

"What, you mean now?"

"Yes, Holiness. I have no fewer than three progress reports outlining their recent actions." He paused. Drew a breath. "One of his, ah, thrusts … one of the things he did to provoke an attack on Arendelle … um …"

"Spit it out, man."

"He, ah, hired a team that, um … kidnapped Princess Eugénie of Sweden."

"… . . . … . . . … What?"

"Yes. On the twenty-third of last month. At this time, they are hiding in the German Federation. They will only return her unharmed if King Charles invades Arendelle."

"Are you …" Gregory leaned forward, hands flat on his desk. "Are you telling me one of my Cardinals incited _war_ with _**Sweden?**_ Is _that_ what I'm hearing?"

"Sweden, yes. And Arendelle, which may or may not be the larger threat."

Gregory thought furiously for a minute. "Who else knows of this?"

"I can't say. In Rome, probably no one. I don't know if King Charles knows who is responsible for the kidnapping, and even less whether Queen Elsa knows anything of the imminent attacks. I _**can**_ tell you that Papella's agents are thus far unaware of his passing."

"Well and good. Alberto, call a council. We must make plans, and do so quickly."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _Hopefully this was long enough to make up for my lengthy absence._**

 ** _Elsa and Carlos (and Mikael) are falling into the trap of making assumptions on incomplete data. Since they had been chewing on the notion that an attack from Weselton must mean he had some way around her magic, that led naturally to the idea that the Hand would be on one of the ships. This oversight will have consequences._**

 ** _Pope Gregory may be a stodgy conservative whose goal is having the Church dominating all of Europa ... but he's not slow, and he can recognize a lightning bolt when it's aimed at his head. The Papal States are in no shape to wage a war with Sweden, and he knows it. Thus his panic._**

 ** _Happy Reading! All comments welcome!_**

 ** _Con_**


	22. Misdirection

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Hot dog! Happy New Year! It's been only twelve days since the last post! Yay, me!**_

 _ **I trust everyone had a pleasant Holiday season. I know I did, having spent it largely in the company of my wife. A better use of my time would be hard to imagine.**_

 _ **So … some of you have expressed concern about Elsa's preparations (read: lack thereof) concerning this "Hand" they learned of. Well, she hasn't been idle, as you will see.**_

 _ **But then, neither have her enemies.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One:** **Misdirection**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _South-central Arendelle, Monday 09 May 1842, 4:30pm_

Once he was sure Lena was alone, Massimo stepped out from the thick undergrowth beside the road. He gave her a brief nod. She jerked her head and took a little-traveled side trail up the hill. Once they were on the other side and out of earshot of the main road, he asked, "You found a suitable place?"

"You wanted a cave, we deliver a cave."

"Two entrances?"

"That's what you asked for."

"No need to be snide about it."

"No need to question my ability," countered Lena. "I hate the Queen more than anyone else alive. If you doubt my commitment, I'll be happy to provide my bona fides."

"Ha. It's unlikely you hate her more than our employer."

"So you've said. But he never met her and is merely operating from prejudice." She spat on the ground. "For me … it's personal."

"All the same to me." He glanced around. "So where is it?"

"Follow me." She led him deeper into the wild, up and down three more hills, before stopping in front of a small thicket. "Behind there."

Massimo waded into the foliage and uncovered a hole in the side of the mountain. He could walk in if he stooped a little. "How far to the other end?"

"Somewhere around three hundred paces, maybe three fifty. It's hard to tell. It gets narrow in one place."

"You've been through it yourself?"

"Only half way. Ole went all the way through."

"How'd you find this place? This is perfect."

"Ole played here when he was small. He remembered."

"Excellent. You'll have your construction team here tomorrow."

"Haste is wisdom," she replied. "We want to have this ready before Weselton arrives. Otherwise, she won't come."

"Don't worry. These men know their craft."

Staring at the cave mouth, she nodded, whispering, "Revenge. Soon, Brigid, revenge."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Vatican, Tuesday 10 May 1842, 5:00pm_

The last of the Cardinals filed out of the chamber. The Guard close the great doors, and Pope Gregory XVI allowed himself to deflate the tiniest bit. This hadn't been a meeting he wanted, but they'd been offered little recourse. Leaning forward on his elbows, he cradled his forehead in his in hands and allowed his thoughts to run over their decisions.

The gang Papella had hired knew the identity of their employer, to an extent. They knew he was highly placed in the hierarchy, and had the ear of the Pope (or so they thought … frankly, that would be Cardinal Lambruschini, were anyone keeping score). They knew he was Italian. But the details were unimportant, on balance. The Roman Church – specifically one of her trusted representatives – was responsible for the kidnapping of the cherished Princess of Sweden.

The College had devolved into uproar. Nearly half of them declared the information false, and it took most of an hour to bring everyone around to the facts of the matter. The next two hours died in pointless debate over the correct response. Some wanted to ignore the situation, maintaining that, since the conspiracy had succeeded, Sweden would never know who pulled the strings. Some insisted that the Church should be the agency to rescue the Princess and return her, even as they admitted they had no idea _where_ in the German Federation she was being held. They said the status and prestige of the Church would get people to lead them to Eugénie. (The Pope wondered if any of them even remembered Pius VII and Pius VIII, and how shabbily they were handled.) The rest of the Cardinals (that is, most of them) waffled and dithered and wavered and vacillated, and Gregory XVI found it all completely exasperating.

The Pope knew what they would have to do, and eventually he made them see reason. The first three hours after midday were consumed in the writing of the missive they would send to King Charles. He lost count of the number of parchments that landed in the pile of ruined manuscripts beside the clerk's desk. (He'd made a note to himself to see to it they got burned.) Then – beggaring his belief – the Cardinals argued for over an hour on the subject of who should make up the delegation to deliver the letter.

Some days the Pope really felt the weight of his years. With a few groans, and more than a few popping joints, he rose and slowly made his way to his chambers. Since he'd be there to see the delegation off in the morning, he wanted his supper, a couple of glasses of wine, and his bed.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _King's Bay, the Southern Isles, Wednesday 11 May 1842, just after dawn_

After hearing Herr Klein's information concerning the three rogue princes, Elsa installed one of her birds high in the air over the main port at Cresthold, the capitol city of the archipelago (and three large parcels of mainland) known collectively as the Southern Isles. She'd checked in on it several times a day since, and had finally gotten a bite.

Carlos sat up in their bed when he felt her stiffen, and placed a gentle hand on her bare shoulder. _**[[ Dear One? What is it? ]]**_

 _[[ Half a dozen of their largest warships are sailing out with the tide. ]]_

 _ **[[ They? Who, Weselton? ]]**_

 _[[ The Southern Isles. ]]_

 _ **[[ Oh. So, hostile? Or conciliatory, do you think? ]]**_

 _[[ They don't seem to be aiming to come here, not at first, at any rate. Looks like they cleared the harbor some minutes ago, and are heading due west. ]]_

 _ **[[ Hmm. West. Maybe they got word of where the princes are, and sent the navy after them. ]]**_

 _[[ One can but hope. ]]_ She was silent for most of a minute, watching through the bird's eye. _[[ I'll let my bird follow them to see where they're going. ]]_

Carlos spooned up behind her and pulled her in close, breathing in the scent of her hair. _ **[[ By the Saints, how do you always smell so good? ]]**_

She turned in his arms, kissed his chin, his cheek, his lips. "If you're trying …" _~smooch~_ "to distract me …" _~smooch~_ "it's working."

"I'd say you were the one doing the distracting, My Queen."

"Practice improves performance."

"Indeed."

They tuned out the rest of the world for the next hour or so, until Kristoff banged on the door to complain about the icicles in the stable.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Vatican, Rome, 10:15am_

Pope Gregory XVI sat grimly in his smaller office, drumming his fingers on the simple table, the only other piece of furniture in the room. After a moment, he sighed and said, "So now you know."

The other man in the room, Oberst Martin Pfyffer von Altishofen, Commandant of the Papal Swiss Guard, was still trying to wrap his brain around the concepts the Pontiff had just imparted him. "Your Holiness … begging your grace … this woman actually wields magic?"

"She does."

"And she's not of the Faith?"

"No."

"Then she's a sorceress."

He shook his head ponderously, leaned back, and rubbed at his eyes. His neck popped, and he moved it around with a small grunt. "The flesh is weak," he muttered, then locked eyes with the Commandant. "Not a sorceress. She was, by all credible accounts, _born_ with the power to create ice."

A dark frown got comfortable on Martin's brow, but he didn't respond immediately.

The Pope continued, "God has blessed her with these abilities, and more. I don't understand it yet. Perhaps we are meant to bring her into the Faith."

"That … _would_ be the best course of action, assuming she's, ah, pliable."

"Ha. Pliable or not …"

"Perhaps we can leverage this mission of aid, show her both the might and the mercy of the Church. Being secured so far north, Arendelle can't know very much of truly civilized society. If we could impress upon her-"

"She created a living being."

Martin gave three deliberate blinks before responding, "… What?"

"She gave life to a snowman."

"Snowman?"

"You know. A figure made of snow, made to resemble a man."

"Yes … yes, I know the term. I've seen them from time to time in the Alpine provinces, and I'm sure Arendelle gets quite a lot of snow. But … life?"

"Eh. Life of a sort. The snowman – he goes by the name 'Olaf' – is a regular sight around the capitol city. By all accounts, he is quite friendly."

"Friendly."

"He asks for warm hugs."

Martin fought to incorporate these concepts, but his Ship of Assimilation kept fetching up on the Reef of Reality. "How … how can a snowman …"

"I don't know. I assume it is part of her magic. But know this: I have had my people uncover every scrap of information there exists about this Elsa of Arendelle, and there is much more than I would have suspected. Her life has been rather well documented."

"Are we _absolutely positive_ she is not a sorceress?"

"Yes. I am sure enough to take action. I have prayed to Holy Mary and St. Nicholas for guidance, and my soul is moved to offer this Queen our protection."

After a couple of sustaining breaths, Martin nodded. "Your will is my own, Holiness."

"We will send a strike force to aid her. It pains me to admit it, but we cannot afford to get into another war at this time, and …" A longer sigh escaped. "Holy Mary have mercy on us, with an official of the Church kidnapping royalty, and sending mercenaries after a reigning monarch, especially one who never offered even the smallest offense …" He raised a hand and let it drop to the table. "I still can't imagine how I never knew Papella was thus engaged. We spoke almost daily. Yet there it is, all the damning evidence laid out plainly." Looking back up at the Commandant, he said, "Gather your men."

The Commandant bowed. "It shall be as you say, Holiness."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Kungliga slottet, Stockholm, Thursday 12 May 1842_

Field Marshal Lars Bladberg had not moved up through the ranks of Sweden's military through rash, unplanned action. He had a level head, a knack for tactics, and a deep understanding of people and how they behaved. Nevertheless, it was by the thinnest of margins that he kept his temper in this private meeting with his King. "… Your Majesty. I beg of you to reconsider. Even if every tale were false – and they aren't – attacking an allied sovereign kingdom without provocation is political suicide … and leading my men into Arendelle would, I am convinced, be _literal_ suicide."

"No one will know you are there. My spy network has identified a hidden pass no one uses. We have watched it for weeks to be sure. You will be able to infiltrate the kingdom and march directly to the capitol without interference."

Bladberg drew a long breath. Another. A third. "My King … two of my men have been to see the ice palace Queen Elsa erected. They saw the monster she created to guard it. The thing is a dozen ells tall at least, and armored, and fast, and hellishly strong, and self-aware. She can create more on a whim. Your Majesty, no one can fight an army of such creatures; not when she can replenish it indefinitely."

King Charles stared him down silently for half a minute, then moved slowly over to his desk and sat, leaning back in the comfortable and well-padded chair. "I am your King. I do not need to justify my actions to you."

Lars had never seen this side of the man before. He knew, _knew in his heart_ , there was something vitally important left out of the conversation, but upon his soul, he had no idea what it could be. Trying not to slump, he nodded and asked, "When do you wish to conduct this, ah, invasion, my King?"

"Three days' time."

That forced a breath out of him. "Your Majesty, I cannot mobilize your army in three days."

"You will only need five cohorts, not the entire army."

"Five! … Um …" He fought for words. "Your Majesty, five thousand men cannot occupy Arendelle."

"They will be sufficient for this task."

Bladberg walked over to stand directly in front of his King. "Your Majesty, what are you not telling me?"

For the first time that morning, Charles XIV cracked a tiny smirk. It quickly vanished. "You know … I've thought, ever since I first met you, that you were uncommonly perspicacious. It's one of the things that makes you an effective leader." He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a slim leather satchel. "The rest of your orders are in here."

The Marshal reached for it, but Charles didn't yet hand it to him. "You must promise," stated the King, "that you will not open this packet until you reach the border pass."

Letting his arm drop, Lars frowned and mumbled, "I … Your Majesty?"

"It is _crucial,_ however, that these orders be opened before entering Arendelle. Doing otherwise would be … let us say, counterproductive."

"Of course, Sire."

The King laid the satchel on the desk and used a finger to slide it across to Marshal Bladberg. "I require your oath that you will not open this until your entire force is in the pass."

"You have it, Your Majesty."

"Good. Have your men ready to march on Sunday."

The Field Marshal tucked the satchel under his left arm, saluted smartly, and strode out to set the invasion in motion.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, Saturday 14 May 1842, 4:15pm_

Admiral Mikael Naismith surveyed the latest addition to the fjord's defenses and gave a grim nod. "Good, good. Let's see the blighters get past that." Turning back to the royal couple, he said, "I have two more emplacements I'd like to see in place before we call it a day."

Elsa glanced up at Carlos. _[[ I'm game if you are. ]]_

He studied her a moment and shrugged. _**[[ You don't seem tired yet. ]]**_

 _[[ I'm not. This is_ **so** _straightforward! Making simple things of ice is leaps and bounds and leagues easier than creating those Lenses was. I feel fine. ]]_

 _ **[[ So do I. My part is even easier. ]]**_

 _[[ Let's do it. ]]_

 _ **[[ Very well, then. ]]**_

Giving Mikael her attention, Elsa asked, "Where would you like them to be?"

"Bracketing the harbor entrance."

That puzzled the Queen. From their vantage point atop a colossal column of ice, they could see the entire city, most of the fjord, and practically all the surrounding mountains. Already, nearly two dozen icy keeps dotted the landscape, each an arsenal unto itself. No matter the direction an invader chose, he'd be up against withering firepower ensconced in a nigh-impenetrable tower. After surveying the placement of the existing ones, she commented, "Okay, I'll bite. Why do we need two more so close to the city? You just said yourself not two minutes ago how impossible it would be for a ship to get that far."

"Yes, assuming we knew the ship was hostile. These will be a last-minute, suddenly-oh-crap-that's-a-bad-guy answer to someone sailing in under a false flag."

"Oh. Fair enough." Five minutes later, the fortifications were done. "Now all that's left is to get Carlos around to the rest of them."

"Which is most of them," noted her husband.

Mikael all but giggled, which Elsa found infectious. She pushed on his arm and said, "You sound like a twelve-year-old."

"Ha. The difference between men and boys is in the lethality of their toys." Rubbing his hands together, he said, "I almost hope Weaseltown _does_ try a sea invasion. Littering the bottom of the fjord with the remaining scraps of their navy would be so, so satisfying."

"And I would rather you not have to kill anyone. A blood grudge is a hard thing to live down."

The Admiral gazed at her impassively for a couple of seconds before grinning and giving his head a shake. "You really are unique."

That made her quirk an eyebrow. "In a good way, we hope?"

"You haven't a confrontational bone in your body."

"Wars are expensive, Mikael, and hard on those who have to fight them. Why would I _desire_ to engage in something like that?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. Truthfully, I've grown to love the peace of the last three decades. Our navy, such as it is, has existed for the purpose of taking down the odd pirate in support of our merchant and fishing operations, a task at which they excel. Not that your Marines are in any way complacent, but I don't want any of those men to lose their lives, either. Many in Arendelle haven't fully recovered from the attacks of those awful assassins last year, and-"

"Eesh, don't remind me." Elsa snuggled into Carlos's side. He put a protective arm around her.

"Exactly. When all the accounts settled out, we'd lost fourteen good men. Their deaths left some pretty big holes, and not all of them have filled in … some never will."

"I am excruciatingly aware of that, which is why I want to spare my land and people the horrors of war. Fourteen was bad enough. Can you imagine five hundred? A thousand?"

"Indeed. Even given that Alexa Berg and Carolina Carlson are both engaged to be married in a month or two-"

"Alexa?" Elsa interrupted. "I'd heard about Heinrich Albertsson courting Carolina, but not … who is she marrying?"

"Believe it or not, another of the Guard, a friend of Arne's, Gunnar Berg."

Chuckling, Carlos commented, "She won't have to change her monograms."

Elsa frowned in thought for a moment. "They're not ... related, are they?"

"Distant cousins, as I understand it. Third, twice removed, or some such. They're perfectly legal."

"I see. When did they publish the banns?"

"Right before the investment ceremony for your Lenses, if memory serves."

Carlos nodded and said, "You were preoccupied."

She thought that over for a few seconds, and smiled. "Maybe that's why he's been in such a good mood these last weeks."

"Doubtless."

Pointing at one of the nearer fortifications, Carlos asked, "Have you started getting the Marines familiar with the new guns?"

"Started, yes, in the installations along the shoreline."

Elsa said, "I'd like to see them in action, if I may."

"Oh, by all means!" This delighted Mikael. "Um …" He peered over the edge of the railing at the ground some two hundred man-heights down. "I'll leave transportation up to Your Majesty."

"Elsa!" she insisted.

"Quite."

With a good-natured grumble, she rapidly brought them back to earth, transforming the tower to one of the spidery conveyances she'd grown fond of. They took off at a good clip, skirting the city proper and then skittering over the curtain wall on greatly-elongated legs. In about five minutes, they stepped down near the entrance to the Guard Tower.

Mikael grinned in anticipation, and led the way inside. The door, currently open, could be closed from the inside, whereupon any sign of a portal on the outside vanished, that ultra-hard solidified water filling in the remaining space between the door and the outer wall. Beginning some ten ells up from the foundation, several rows of downward-pointing spikes ringed the structure. Farther up, the wall sloped out at about thirty degrees to eventually create the 'weapons floor' where the Marines were set up, some ten man-heights from the ground. (Elsa had no intention of allowing anyone to sneak up on her Marines, or penetrate the tower without one _Hell_ of a lot of work.)

A spiral staircase wound its way up the inside of the structure, making two circuits before emptying out onto the top level. Mikael led the way, so he was the first visitor spotted.

One of the three Marines jumped to his feet and shouted, "Admiral on deck!"

The others scrambled erect, then goggled when Elsa and Carlos joined the Admiral. The one who had shouted stuttered, "Uh … Your-your Majesty! Um, welcome, uh … welcome … . . . … _Queen on deck!"_

One of the other Marines gave him a pained look and said, "We can see that, idiot." He turned to Elsa and bowed (the others quickly mimicking him) and said, "Queen Elsa, we thank you for your visit and for this system of towers. Never have I felt more able to defend your kingdom."

" _Our_ kingdom."

"Yes, of course."

Elsa walked over and (to his great surprise) took his hands. "Gunnar! I understand congratulations are in order."

It took him a second _('Why is she holding my … what is … oh, wait')_ before he realized what she meant, and broke out in a grin. "Oh! Yes, yes, thank you! We'll be getting married eleventh June."

Carlos came up and shook his hand. "Good job, my man. You'll be careful of her heart, I know."

"Absolutely!"

Mikael cleared his throat. Gunnar stepped back into line, but didn't lose his grin.

Elsa suppressed a giggle and said, "We'd like to see a demonstration of the gun, if you please."

The three Marines blinked at her. Gunnar pointed at the man to his right. "Bjorn is the fire chief. We're just support. You know, supply, and close-contact defense."

The third Marine (whose name was Thom) said, "Not that we need to. This tower is impregnable."

Pursing her lips, Elsa gave her head a tiny shake. "Nothing is _completely_ impregnable. But I did the best I knew how."

They all nodded. Thom said, "It's good enough for me. They could throw cannonballs at us all day and I don't think it would even _mark_ the ice, to say nothing of doing any real damage."

Gunnar smirked at him. "Ask him how he knows that, Your Majesty."

Elsa looked back and forth between the two, fighting down a smirk. "Well, Thom? How do you know?"

"I, ah … well, I sort of … broke an axe on it."

A rather un-lady-like snort escaped the Queen. "Did you, now? Felt the need to test it?"

"Bjorn dared me."

She put her hands on her hips, arms akimbo. "You three make quite a set."

"As you say, Your Majesty. But my point remains. The enemy could fire at us all day and-"

Bjorn gave a short bark of a laugh. "They wouldn't _have_ all day to do it. They wouldn't have so much as a minute."

Elsa stepped over to the gun. "Let's see."

Eager to show off for the Queen, Bjorn took his seat behind the sleek piece of artillery.

Carlos watched with interest. The coastal defense guns were his design, and he was rather proud of them. Starting with a scaled-up version of the light-knives he'd made at Christmas, he played around with strength and duration and caliber until he was satisfied with the results. He drafted Elsa to craft the physical part of the weapon (to his specifications) and the result sat on the firing platform overlooking the fjord.

It resembled, vaguely, an over-sized rifle some five ells long. The excessive length wasn't necessary for the firing function, but it gave a large span between the forward and rear sights, enabling accurate targeting. Mounted on a well-damped swivel, the gun could cover some hundred and fifty degrees from this position, and fire as close as the shore (inadvisable) or out to the horizon. Also, as Carlos pointed out while teaching the men to use it, the marksman didn't have to lead the target.

Ready to hand on either side was a rack holding an even hundred cylinders of ice about a span long and maybe two fingers thick. The round was dropped into a slot in the top of the gun, then activated by a standard trigger. Since the gun was counterbalanced, and the gunner was sitting, with both hands firmly on the outboard stocks, the system was unusually steady.

Bjorn held out his right hand, and Thom dutifully passed him a round. Scanning the fjord, Bjorn frowned and said, "Doesn't look like there's a decent target."

Elsa gestured toward the water. A small schooner of ice rose from the waves and bobbed in place some thousand paces from shore. "How's that?"

His grin turned wolfish. "Perfect." Taking a few seconds to line up his shot, Bjorn steadied hands, let out half a breath, and pulled the trigger.

A lance of blinding brilliance leapt from the end of the gun, lasting about half a second. None present could tell if any time lapsed before it impacted the icy target, but when it did, there was a violent explosion of steam and ice crystals, and the ship flew into several pieces. Bjorn breathed, "God, I love doing that."

"Nice." Elsa nodded and gave the gun a pat, unable to stop the grin that took over her face. Turning to Carlos, she asked, "How many charges do you put in each tower?"

"A couple hundred. Several times more than I think they'll ever need. You know, just in case. The power blast makes a hole about a span across. Hit a ship at the waterline, and suddenly they'll be taking on water in two places. Hit the sails, and they ignite. Hit the powder magazine …" He shrugged. "That's one ship you won't have to worry about. I figure poking a few holes in the lead ships from half a league away ought to discourage even the most bloodthirsty invaders. The others will turn tail and run."

"Excellent."

Mikael spoke up. "So far, the Prince Consort has armed the fifteen towers ringing the fjord, and five up the coast."

Carlos agreed, "Yes, and I'll get to the rest of them over the next two days."

Elsa leaned up against him with a one-armed hug. "I'm beginning to feel a lot better about Weselton and those Southern Isles Princes."

He pressed a cheek against her hair. "So am I."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Stockholm, Sunday 15 May 1842, noon_

Field Marshal Lars Bladberg sat his horse, reviewing his troops as they marched west, the sourest of scowls infesting his features.

These were good men. He knew a lot of them – a _**lot**_ of them – personally. He wasn't willing to lose any of them unnecessarily. While it was true that Sweden hadn't been, as a sovereign kingdom, invested in a war since 1814, that didn't mean the Swedish Kings were averse to hiring out certain groups of specialists for specific goals. The mercenary trade had a long, proud tradition, and the Marshal wouldn't have it any other way. His men had acquitted themselves well against the Partisans of the Cortes (twice); against the Ottoman Empire fighting alongside the Greeks; with the United States several years later, wiping out Greek pirates in the Aegean; through the Netherlands three times, while various parties tried to straighten out Napolean's mess; fighting for the _Ancien Regime_ against the French Republicans; hell, he'd even had one small unit go with the British all the way to the other side of the world to fight in Tasmania. Unfortunately, they had remained there, having found that less fussed lifestyle to their liking.

That was not the point. Soldiers fought. It's what they do. It's in the job description. But, damn it, they fought for good reasons, be it love of country, protecting their own people, or cold, hard cash. This expedition? He was a well-educated fellow, and spoke three languages well plus two others passably, but this stumped him. He knew there was something wrong with the situation, but his King wouldn't let him in on the secret. Had Arendelle slighted him somehow? Bladberg had made inquiries (a lot of them) and had come up empty on that front. It made no sense. None. There was little in the way of plunder. Arendelle was tiny, and Queen Elsa's treasury utterly insignificant compared with the riches of the Kingdom of Sweden and Norway. King Charles had no reason to do this.

Then there was Elsa, herself, to consider. He knew she was no mean threat, and his objections to his sovereign were all too genuine. If it came to a direct confrontation, he feared mightily that his forces would be wiped out to a man.

Maybe the packet the King had given him contained something to counter the Queen's power? Bladberg could hardly conceive of such a thing, but then … magic? Maybe? Who knew? Maybe it was a diversion and they weren't meant to engage Arendelle directly? If so, then either he had too few men with him, or _**way**_ too many.

It made his head hurt.

He ran a hand over the saddlebag where the packet lay in secret.

"Fine day for a war, is it not?"

The Marshal turned to his right. "Ah. Colonel Aronsson." He looked back at the long column of soldiers and allowed himself a quiet sigh. "I suppose the King thinks so."

"High time Arendelle dropped its pretense of sovereignty and joined the Kingdom, I say."

"One can hope that is how it will fall out."

The Colonel eyed his superior officer appraisingly. "You seem … unsure."

"No battle is certain, no outcome set. We must above all, be flexible."

With a sly smile, the Colonel answered, "I couldn't agree more."

They sat in silence for several minutes before urging their horses forward to join the force.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **End Note:**_

 _ **Marshal Bladberg made a good point: No battle is certain. I think, however, that the outcome of any attempt to invade Arendelle by sea is going to be easy to predict.**_

 _ **All comments welcome!**_


	23. The Fall

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 ** _You all have my most abject apologies for taking so long to post this chapter. All I can say is that Life got in the way. The details would mostly bore you (they bore me), but between work and family obligations ... well, this chapter was written in five-to-fifteen-minute spurts, every two or three (or four ... or five) days. That being said, I'm not ashamed of it. I hope you take it in the spirit in which it is given._**

.

 **Chapter Twenty-Two: The Fall**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle, Monday 16 May 1842, 2:30pm_

Anna and Sofia ducked into Elsa's study, stopping to contemplate the figure of the Queen. The Countess glanced at Anna and mouthed, "Is she asleep?"

"She isn't usually one for naps, so probably not." Anna walked over to where her sister had arranged herself on a divan, bent down until her lips were right next to Elsa's ear, and whispered, "Ellllllllsaaaaaaa…"

"I can hear you just fine, you know. Both of you."

"Thought so," responded Anna. She stood and crossed her arms. "So, what _are_ you doing, if you're not napping?"

"Watching a column of Swedish troops march toward our eastern border."

"Oh," said Anna, soberly. "That."

"Is that the feint you were telling me about?" asked Sofia. "The one you worked out with the King's spymaster?"

Elsa opened her eyes and gave Sofia a calculating look. It truly was amazing how quickly and completely the Spanish Peer had integrated into their family. Elsa would have suspected her of ulterior motives, had she and Carlos not verified Sofia's deep desire to emulate the royal sisters in all things … and the surprisingly strong attachment she'd developed to Dankert Knutsen. It was obvious to anyone around her how eagerly she looked forward to their wedding. Clearing her throat, Elsa replied, "Yes. There are some five thousand troops in the force. They do appear to be headed for the area where I'd identified that hidden pass for Herr Klein."

"That's … good, then? Correct?"

"Correct. They will bunch up in the pass, whereupon I will erect a tall stockade of ice around them."

Sofia nodded to herself, toying with a button on her sleeve. "And the King holds up his end of the bargain with the kidnappers, but Arendelle doesn't get invaded."

"And his soldiers don't die."

"Right."

Anna muttered, "And I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Elsa sighed and sat up. "Anna …"

"No, Elsa, none of that sigh-at-me-and-tell-me-not-to-worry nonsense."

"Anna …"

"You _know_ they have something else planned, I _know_ you do! It's been six weeks since you started handing out Lenses, and nearly that long since the first Sentinels showed up. The kidnappers have _got_ to know by now that any attempt at an overland invasion would be a slaughter."

"Which is why we concentrated on improving the seaward defenses!"

"And I still say the whole mess is a big diversion. They're planning something sneaky." She poked her sister's arm. "You need to be doing sweeps every eight hours or so with Carlos to look for bad guys through that silver plane thingy."

"That … um … hmmmmm." A contemplative frown got comfortable on her brow. "That … that actually makes a lot of sense."

"Thank you. Best write the date down."

Standing and pulling the redhead into a hug, Elsa murmured, "Don't sell yourself short. I should listen to you more often."

Anna gripped her tightly and fought with her composure for a moment. "It's pure …" _swallow_ "… purely self-interest. I don't want to have to grow old by myself."

"And you won't."

Sofia joined the hug, not bothering to hide her emotions. "You do realize that you two are sort of my life goal, now. Right?"

They stood like that for most of a minute before breaking the clinch. Elsa wiped at her eyes and asked, "Was there something specific you came to see me about?"

"Oh! Right! Yeah, Tomás got a letter from the General …"

. . .

 _A few hours earlier, at the Spanish Embassy_

Diego and Tomás sat at a large table, poring over one of several treaties they wanted to propose to Elsa, when Bren, one of their servants, knocked on the doorframe. "M'lord? A courier is to be here you see."

Everyone in the Delegation was used to Bren's mangled syntax, and the two men understood instantly. Diego asked, "From where?"

"He not to be say, M'lord."

Tomás blew half a sigh and made a small gesture. "Show him in."

Bren made two quick, abbreviated bows and backed out. A few seconds later, a man wearing the livery of General Espartero's personal house stepped in. He singled out Tomás and bowed, with rather a lot of flourish. "Don Banderas. General Espartero sends his regards, and this message." He opened a satchel and withdrew a sealed packet, stepping over to hand it to Tomás.

"Thank you." He passed the courier a few coins. "That should get you a good room and a meal at the tavern one street over."

"I am in your debt." How bowed again, and left.

The wax seal was dark blue, a color reserved for documents of particular importance. Tomás stared at it for only a few seconds before breaking the seal and withdrawing the contents. He cleared his throat and began to read.

 _Don Joaquín Baldomero Fernández-Espartero y Alvarez de Toro, General-Regent of Spain_

 _To Don Tomás Banderas_

 _Greetings ~_

 _Time is not our friend, so I will be brief. We are preparing ten of Spain's largest warships to aid Queen Elsa against Weselton's dastardly attack. They should arrive before the first of June. I can only hope that will be good enough._

 _You have my full authority to offer any and all support and comfort to Arendelle. Please make sure the Queen knows and understands that we consider her a close ally. We take care of our own._

 _Regards_

Tomás looked up at Diego. "Who is here at the moment?"

"Sofia, for sure. I think the Santos brothers are sparring over at the Training Floor. Gerardo should be working on that proposal for Councilor Knutsen."

"Come. We must spread the word."

. . .

Elsa was grinning broadly when Sofia and Anna finished. "Excellent! It's nice to have friends in high places." She paused and Sent, _[[ Dear? I need to let you know what your countrymen have been up to. ]]_

 _ **[[ I was just about to tell you. Tomás filled me in. Makes me proud of Espartero. ]]**_

 _[[ Proud, yes, and relieved. We can guard the fjord, but I wasn't too pleased with our options once out of sight of land. This will help immensely! ]]_

 _ **[[ Too true. You can also place one of your birds on each ship. Then we will be able to help, should they come under fire. ]]**_

 _[[ Oh, I_ _like_ _the way you think! ]]_

 _ **[[ Time to gather the Council for a session? ]]**_

 _[[ Definitely. ]]_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Knutsen Estate, Tuesday 17 May 1842, 10:30am_

Dankert was in the garden visiting with his mother when one of the servants approached and announced Countess Ventura de Tejada y Fernandez. Dankert immediately rose and strode (just shy of 'ran', to be honest) quickly to the front parlor.

Normally, she would have been sitting primly in one of the high-backed chairs, awaiting his arrival with a knowing smile. He was surprised to find her, instead, pacing in front of the window, nibbling at her lip and wringing her hands. He went to her instantly and took her in his arms. "Darling, what's wrong?"

Her answering embrace was uncharacteristically clingy. "I needed to know you were well and whole."

 _No complaints from me!_ He lightly stroked her back and said, "We are all quite well. What happened that led you to think otherwise?"

"Oh, it's nothing specific. Just all this noise about war. Such rumors were a constant thing growing up, and until recently, Arendelle had offered a haven from that." She laid her head against his chest. Listened to his heart beat for a bit. "Elsa is worried. She's holding up well, but I can tell something is … wrong. Something she isn't telling anyone … or maybe Carlos, but certainly no one else."

"Not even Anna?"

She dimpled. "Dear, you know the Princess. I love her like the sister I never had, but she can't keep a secret. If she knew what was troubling Elsa, I think I'd have heard by now."

"Hmm. Maybe. I think her secret-keeping capacity depends on the urgency of the secret. She didn't tell you about her fencing instruction, did she?"

"… Um. Okay. Your point. Maybe she does know."

"I'd think it unlikely Elsa would keep secrets from her. From what I've gathered, they promised each other that would never happen again."

After a few moments of silence, she said, "That makes sense. But still." Drawing back in his arms until she could look him in the face, she said, "Something terrible is coming. I know the Sentinels will protect the sub- … citizens, and the new long-range guns will protect the fjord. But is that all? What about assassins? There was a huge problem with assassins once before, wasn't there?"

"That's true. But what can we do about a threat when we don't know what it is or where it's coming from?"

"That's why I'm here, Dankert."

"Well, I certainly don't mind."

"I'd … like to spend more time … for us to spend more time together."

"A capital suggestion, Dear." He indicated the house. "Would you prefer to stay here?"

"Actually … if you don't mind … I'd prefer that you stay at the castle."

"Safety foremost, I see."

"Yes."

"And my parents? I don't think the Queen would be thrilled with putting them up long-term."

She did that cute lip-nibble thing again. "I'm pretty sure … I mean, I feel that it won't be long-term."

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

"… I don't know. A feeling I have."

"So, among your other many talents, you are a seer."

She gave him a mock frown. "You make sport of things you know not, Sir."

"What I know is that I want to make you happy. If staying in the castle makes you happy, that I will do."

Her answering smile was all he ever wished for.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, Saturday 21 May 1842, 1:00pm_

"Your Majesty?"

Elsa looked up from the list of laws and ordinances she was reviewing and focused on Jørgen, who stood in her doorway. Two of the Guard stood behind him, with another man between them in a livery she recognized instantly. She rose to her feet. "Come in, Captain."

The group entered and stopped three paces from the desk. "Queen Elsa, this is Alero Corsetti. He is a Herald for the Vatican."

"Indeed, that tabard is hard to mistake." Addressing the Herald in Italian, she said, "The Court of Arendelle welcomes you, Signor Corsetti."

"Your Majesty." He bowed very low and straightened up. "I have a message for you from His Holiness, Pope Gregory XVI." He held out a sealed tube covered with silk. Jørgen took it and gave Elsa a questioning eye. She nodded.

The tube contained one sheet of parchment, which the Captain quickly scanned, his eyes growing large. He passed it to Elsa, who took most of a minute to absorb the contents. She met the Herald's gaze. "This is dated the eleventh."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You got here from Rome in ten days?"

"A little over nine, Your Majesty."

"What did you do, fly?"

"Your Majesty, I rode five horses to death and stole two so that I might make it to Amsterdam in time to board ship to Arendelle. His Holiness felt it imperative to deliver the message as soon as possible."

"That, I can understand." She turned to the Guard. "Please escort Signor Corsetti to one of the castle guest suites. Tell Kai to see to his every need."

"Right away, Your Majesty."

Jørgen stated, "It is as we had feared. Papella's evil crew is still acting against you."

Elsa Sent _[[ Dear? Would you pop around to my office, please? ]]_

 _ **[[ Be there in half a minute. ]]**_

"Jørgen, be kind enough to fetch Mikael for me. We have a planning session to conduct."

"I will return soonest." He bowed himself out.

. . .

Mikael toyed with his quill, alternately chewing on it and tapping the point on the blotter in front of him. "So we will have this, ah, contingent of the Swiss Guard. That should be interesting."

"I'm interested to see what sorts of weapons they bring with them," stated Carlos.

"Meaning?"

"They're famous for several things. Polearms. Crossbows. They're supposed to have crossbows with nearly the range of – and better accuracy than – a carbine. A lowly courier never had occasion to hobnob with the Guard, and I'm curious to see if there is any substance to the rumors."

"Hmm." Mikael looked at Jørgen. "I suppose they could supplement the Queen's Own."

The Captain frowned a moment and shook his head. "I'd rather have them with the Watch."

"Really. Why?"

"Exposure."

The others mulled that over and Elsa gave a short nod. "You're wanting the publicity. Visitors to Arendelle seeing that the Church is aligned with the Crown."

"Something like that, yes."

"I like it."

"Right, then," said Mikael, gaining his feet. "They'll be here in a week or thereabouts. We will need to make a place for them in the Watch House."

Jørgen asked, "Are they bringing their own victuals? Supplies?"

"The letter didn't say." Elsa picked it up again and scanned it. "No, no mention of that. We'll assume they are not."

"Fine. We'll bump up the foodstocks, too."

"I hope," commented Carlos, "they don't need to stay here very long."

Elsa ticked points off on her fingers. "Foil Weselton's sea invasion. Trap and then return the Swedish forces. Take appropriate precautions against that third rumored force …" She paused and nibbled at her lip.

Carlos wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "And deal with this 'Hand' thing and whoever is trying to use it."

She nodded, but didn't say anything else.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Stollberg, Saxony, the German Confederation, Tuesday 24 May 1842, 5:00pm_

" _That's the place."_

" _A chandler? They set up an evil lair in a candle shop?"_

" _Looks benign, doesn't it? The owner is a cousin of one of the gang. He wouldn't dare say a word about what they do."_

" _Even kidnapping, apparently."_

" _Even kidnapping."_

 _The third member of the group cleared his throat pointedly. "Would you mind terribly staying on topic, gentlemen?"_

 _The others, chagrined, apologized.. One said, "I'm just relieved we've finally found her, sir."_

" _Hear-hear!" agreed his companion._

" _That's great. Shall we attend to the details so that we may develop 'finding' into 'rescuing'?"_

" _Yessir." "Yessir."_

" _Go get the others."_

. . .

 _Somewhat later …_

M-Hans came into the cramped room carrying a sack, which he dumped on the table before turning to K-Hans. "There's some bread and cheese. See if you can get the little bitch to eat."

"Brat can starve for all I care."

"Not worth much dead."

"Oh, like he'll actually give her back."

M-Hans pulled up short at that. "She's really managed to get on your nerves, hasn't she?"

K-Hans gave him a sardonic lip and shook his head in disgust.

. . .

 _Four of the gang stood watch at the cardinal points around the chandler's shop. It was a peaceful night, if a little chilly, and they idled at their posts. No one traveled much after sundown, and the street was empty. Two of them nursed pipes of fragrant tobacco. One was sketching a woman's face by lamplight._

 _In a handful of seconds, each one met a grisly end at the point of a poisoned knife. The bodies were quickly dragged out of sight._

. . .

Leaning both fists on K-Hans's chair, the other man said, "She'll get back to Sweden, and she'll get back alive. King Charles is pissed as Hell right now, and he'll stay that way for a while, but the gold we'll get will take us far, far away, far enough that he won't bother coming after us … as long as he has his granddaughter. But if she dies? If we kill the Prince's only child?" He spat on the floor. "There aren't enough hiding places in the world. He'll bend everything he has in revenge. Bet on it."

K-Hans shrugged. "Whatever."

"Go ahead and take her the bread. She'll eat it if she's hungry enough, and you don't have to stick around to watch."

"Great," grumbled the bald man. "Little spitfire better not try to bite me again."

M-Hans dropped onto a sofa. "Just give her the damned food."

. . .

 _Josef and Matteo came in through a side window._

 _Karl and Max and Robert came in through the upper balcony._

 _The rest of them crept up to the front door._

. . .

Heaving his bulk out of the chair, K-Hans grabbed the sack and stomped through the door into the smoky kitchen at the back of the shop. They had Eugénie tied to one of the massive pot-hook mounts at the fireplace. The rope wrapped her wrists securely, but allowed her enough movement to feed herself. The little brunette glared at K-Hans with a look that should have melted the flesh from his bones. They'd thought to cow her through rude treatment, but the plan had backfired spectacularly. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

He set the bag down on a huge butcher block that stood near the fireplace and smirked at Eugénie. "Beg for your supper."

She cursed him quite creatively. In three languages.

"Fine. Starve, then. If you start to feel peckish, give a yell. Somebody might bother to push that sack over your way."

Showing him her back, she plopped down by the fire.

He tossed a wine cork at her head.

She ignored him utterly.

"Bitch," he muttered.

. . .

 _Four men slept in narrow cots on the second floor._

 _Three knives struck as one. Three gangsters would never harm anyone again._

 _The fourth man was a light sleeper. There was a scuffle. He cried out before being overwhelmed._

 _Karl swore under his breath._

 _Robert said, "Move! Move!"_

. . .

M-Hans jumped to his feet when he heard the commotion upstairs, jerking a pistol and a dagger out of his belt. "Fritz! Alex!"

The two thugs in question had been playing casino in the front of the shop. The cards scattered at M-Hans's yell, and they drew their own weapons, turning to go to his aid.

Four quick shots from the front door put them down permanently.

. . .

K-Hans jerked both of his pistols and stood beside the door. Several curses accompanied half a dozen reports, then there was silence. He popped a sweat, grinding his teeth.

Someone kicked the door open. K-Hans already had his first weapon aimed, and fired into the face of one of the men. Some others yelled and pulled back.

Much of the day, Eugénie had been working her ropes against a sharp stone at the edge of the fireplace. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when they finally parted. Hunkered down, as she was, behind the massive butcher-block table, she couldn't see who was firing at her captor. However, she _could_ see K-Hans's right arm and the pistol he held, around the corner of the leg. She stared at him hard for a couple of seconds, then looked back at the fireplace. A pair of bed-warming pans leaned against the mantle. There was a fine bed of coals in the hearth. She eased over toward it …

. . .

"There's only one left. He's got to be in there with the Princess."

"He hasn't said anything."

"We have to rush him before he can hurt her!"

"From both sides, then." Robert paused to glance at Fritz's body, his jaw hard. "And don't miss."

. . .

The warming pan made a reasonably good scoop. The embers were deep enough that she didn't have to scrape the stone. Quietly, stealing quick looks at K-Hans, she filled the pan … carried it back to her post behind the butcher block … got a good grip on the long handle …

. . .

"Ready on three," whispered Robert. He held up three fingers. "One. Two. …"

There was an agonized yell from the back room, and K-Hans stumbled out, grabbing at his neck and trying to tear his cloak off. Four pistol balls hit him almost as one. As he fell to the floor, his cloak burst into flame around the neck. Max stomped it out, noting with puzzlement the hot coals spilling free.

Robert jumped toward the door. "Princess Eugénie? Are you there?"

The girl stalked out, carrying a sack and rubbing her sore wrist, and looked down at the fallen gangster. She kicked his corpse, then turned to the others, belligerently asking, "Who are you?"

"We work for your grandfather. We're here to get you back to Sweden."

"… _Grand-père._ He must be so upset. He had a celebration planned for my birthday, and I know he was disappointed I couldn't be there. He said twelve was special."

"Yes, he did, and I'm sorry you missed it, but better late than never."

"That's true." She pulled the small round of cheese out of the sack and sniffed it, then took a bite.

"Is there anything you have to get before we go?"

"No." Chewing, she nodded at the kidnapper. "Are the rest of them dead, too?"

"Yes. They are."

"Good. They killed Martine. She … she was nice." Quickly wiping at her eyes, she sniffed once.

"Princess, are you-"

"I'm fine."

He could plainly see she wasn't 'fine' but didn't comment. _Poor girl. This would rattle most adults, never mind a twelve-year-old._

She moved to the next door and said, "Where are we going?"

"Brussels. We have a safe-house there, and can send a message to your family."

"Let's go." She tore a chunk off the loaf and popped it into her mouth.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, Wednesday 25 May 1842, 5:30am_

A score of candles lit the royal bedchamber, having responded instantly to Carlos's desire. He'd only been awake for a few moments, his mind drawn out of sleep by Elsa's perturbation. At length he scooted up and leaned against the headboard, Elsa making a pillow out of his thigh.

 _ **[[ So, they're leaving? ]]**_

 _[[ Yes, it looks like it. Finally. ]]_

 _ **[[ How many? ]]**_

 _[[ Well … it's hard to tell, since a lot of them are still at the dock, but eight of the steamships are outside the harbor. ]]_

 _ **[[ And headed this way? ]]**_

 _[[ Headed in this general direction. Since they only just embarked, it's hard to tell, but … I don't know where else they would be going. We've known for months he planned to invade. ]]_

 _ **[[ We can stop him. ]]**_

 _[[ The coastal defenses can stop him. That's not the point. We only have two ships outfitted with the new cannon and my protective wards, and I'm afraid for our fishing fleet. We should call them back. ]]_

 _ **[[ At the peak of the sardine harvest? I think not. If they attack our ships, we'll sink theirs. ]]**_

 _[[ They haven't attacked yet. ]]_

 _ **[[ They will. ]]**_

 _[[ Yes, probably, but until they do, they are simply another naval fleet out on maneuvers. The Duke would insist that we attacked unprovoked. Our trade arrangements are unsettled enough as it is. I won't do anything to put them in further jeopardy. ]]_

Carlos sank back into the pillows and crossed his arms. "Fine. But the second he-"

"Yes, the second he attacks, we will retaliate. And he won't like it much." She pulled his arms open, inserted herself, and closed them around her, working her head comfortably up under his chin, and reveling quietly in the skin-on-skin contact. "Don't worry."

"Dear, I have to worry. It comes with the job."

"Very well, but I don't think you need to."

"We will have to agree to disagree. They have something else planned. I can feel it in my bones. Something we aren't expecting."

"Do you think that Hand thing will prevent the coastal defense guns from working?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I doubt it. Do you think it would stop the Sentinels?"

"… Maybe."

"All of them?"

"… No. Probably not. You made a lot of them."

"And one Sentinel is equal to a hundred soldiers, easily. I have no worries on that score. When the Swedish forces come in through that pass, I will simply catch them."

"Yes, well, Klein's plan sounds good at first blush, but there's a lot that can go wrong with it. What if they don't stop in the pass? What if they simply keep going, and break into platoons or squads and start terrorizing the locals?"

"Sentinels, dear. The plan to catch them is for _their_ protection, not ours."

"Hmph." He reached up, stroked her hair. "Papella's dead, but his agents are still at large. You can't tell me that doesn't worry you even a little."

"To some extent, yes. And we're taking precautions, obviously." She turned her face up to his. "We're doing all we can."

"Hmm. Maybe. The Sentinels are good against any coordinated invading force … but assassins? Maybe not."

"I can't run scared, Dear." She took his hand, laced their fingers together. "For all we know, the Hand may be nothing but another hoax. It may be totally ineffective. I have no intention of letting a rumor, no matter how dire, put me out of action."

"It sounds like a credible threat to me."

"And what would you have me do? Hide in my room? We don't know – assuming it does exist – who has it, what its real powers are, whether its powers can affect mine, whether it has to be used close up or not … in sum, we have _nothing_ in the way of real information about it."

Slowly, gently his arms came up around her, clasped her shoulders, pulled her tight against him. "I … cannot abide the thought of anything … happening to you. It freezes my blood. Leaves only ash on my tongue."

"I understand, Dearest, for I feel the same way. But I have responsibilities to my kingdom. I took vows I have no intention of foreswearing. There is a governmental structure for Arendelle that works as well as any such thing can, but the winding road of duty leads always back to me. I can't be an effective head of state if I become a recluse. It didn't work well during my regency, and it would perform even worse now. I don't want to interrupt trade or antagonize our friends or make enemies." She gripped his hands harder, her eyes hollow. "I hid from Arendelle for thirteen years. No more. No more. Never again."

The despair lurking behind her words was a thing of claws and teeth, and Carlos respected it. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her eyes, drinking in the essence of Elsa. "As you say, Dearest, so it shall be. But know that I will be with you, guarding you, watching over you. I may not be obvious, but I will be there. Trust me in this."

"I do." She pulled his head down far enough to capture his lips. "You are the lion of my heart."

"And mine is yours, in all its workings."

Another two hours passed before they made an appearance. No one complained about the snow.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Southeastern Arendelle, Thursday 26 May 1842, dusk_

Elsa had been aware for years that Dowager Consort Liesel was no friend of hers. The few times she had observed the Countess interacting with her father had made it plain the woman didn't like their arrangement. Liesel thought she should at _least_ have vetting power in any decisions Agdar made, though Arendellian law and tradition were clear on the subject. The King (or Queen, in Elsa's case) had absolute authority over the government. He could take suggestions under advisement if he wished, but had no obligation to respect anyone else's opinion. Elsa's father had more than one, ah, _strident_ conversation with his step-mother (who happened to be some years his junior) over this very issue. After a time, and many such altercations, Countess Liesel had retired to the estate left to her by her late husband, and basically sulked.

Once ascending the Throne, Elsa had made a few overtures, mainly to see whether time had tempered the dislike, but Liesel had never responded to any of her invitations, in any fashion. After a few months of the silent treatment, Elsa sighed, resigned herself to the brittle stalemate, and left the Countess to her own devices. It shocked her not at all when Liesel failed to show up for the Lens Ceremony. A single, brief note asking if she would like the Queen to come to her manor for the favor also went unanswered.

That was why, knowing that Liesel would have no protection against them, Elsa didn't station any Sentinels near the estate. After all, it was right on the southern border, on its own fjord, far from any highway; it wasn't as if there was traffic passing through there. There wasn't even a village anywhere in sight. It never crossed Elsa's mind that the Countess would betray Arendelle. Why would she? It would make no sense!

As it happened, Elsa's tendency to see past the bad in others was misplaced concerning Liesel.

The ships – four of them – glided silently into the fjord under heavy fog. Even if anyone had been there to watch, little could be seen. Liesel and Maria Cristina were waiting in a screened gazebo, some two-score paces back from the dock, and watched as the Captain of the first ship disembarked and headed their way. He entered and bowed. "Captain Felix Mayer, at your service." He appeared to be somewhere around forty, tall and fit, blond and trim, with a bold mustache and a strong chin.

The Countess held out a hand for him to kiss. "Indeed. Welcome, Captain. I rather imagine you will be … of _significant_ service." Her gaze gave him a quick, admiring up-and-down before it flicked past him to where the soldiers were swarming off the ship. "I have arranged accommodations for you and your men. They are not elaborate, but will be, I am sure, preferable to tents."

"We are forever in your debt, Your Grace."

"That debt will be more than discharged, once you rid Arendelle of that witch on the throne." She observed as two men wrestled with a large chest depending from two poles. "Your men work quickly, Captain."

"Yes, Your Grace. We want to deploy and get the ships hidden as soon as possible."

The three watched for another handful of minutes until the large platoon of mercenaries had formed up on land, and the ship began to back away to make room for the next. Liesel murmured, "Impressive. I've never seen a ship empty that quickly, that wasn't on fire."

The Captain chuckled softly. "As you say, Your Grace."

Two men trotted the chest-on-poles up to the gazebo and placed it on the ground. Following them was a tonsured man in a brown habit, who came and stood before the big box.

Liesel leaned forward, her eyes sparking with anticipation. "Is that the item?"

"It is. Father Grimm, if you would?"

The priest intoned a short prayer and then opened the chest. A long white cloth of silk was folded into a compartment in the lid; he used this to pad his hands and protect the ancient piece of wood he lifted for their inspection. It glowed a mellow golden brown in the lamplight.

Leaning forward eagerly, Liesel asked, "And this will truly scotch her magic?"

Father Grimm said, "It acts to violently repress all demonic influence within line-of-sight. I have seen it. If the Queen is, indeed, a sorceress, she will die as soon as she sees it."

"Perfect." Turning to the Captain, she murmured, "You must come up to the manor house when you get your men settled. I would like to, ah, discuss our plans."

Captain Mayer gave her a swift and appreciative look, and grinned. "I think that would be most pleasant, Your Grace."

Later, in the middle of the night, Maria Cristina grumped to herself and dragged a pillow over her head to block out the noises coming from the Countess's bedroom.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Kungliga slottet, Stockholm, Friday 27 May 1842,10:20am_

Albrecht Klein had good men (and several good women) working for him. Therefore, the message the pigeon had delivered from the safe-house in Brussels was in his hands thirteen minutes after the bird landed. Eight minutes after that, he informed his King.

Charles XIV visibly sagged, mumbled, "Thank God!" and strode over to a bell-pull. Eleven minutes later, one of his best couriers stood to attention in front of him.

The man bowed. "Your Majesty."

Charles handed him a rolled, sealed parchment. "Ride after Marshal Bladberg and give him these orders. Make every effort for haste. Once you have delivered them to his hand, take this," and he passed the courier another, larger, much more ornate parchment, "into Arendelle. Ask until you find a patrol. Inform them of the cessation of the invasion, and request to present this letter to Queen Elsa." He gripped the man by one shoulder. "Do not stop. Do not let anyone interfere. Do not fail me. The lives of those soldiers depend upon your speed."

"It shall be as you say, Your Majesty." The courier was riding out of the palace gates within the quarter-hour.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _A tiny holt an hour southeast of Arendelle City, Saturday 28 May 1842, mid-morning_

Massimo stepped out of the tiny, rude hut, turned, and looked it up and down. "Antonio, you should take up painting as a career. This thing looks ancient! Bravo!"

"Thanks. Bernardo helped with finding the right pigments."

Niccolo stepped up behind them. "Yes, we are all most impressed, I'm sure. Shall we get this little play underway now, hmm?"

The other two rolled their eyes at him. Antonio said, "Yes, Mother."

Massimo said, "I'll go tell the hellbitch," and jogged away.

Niccolo climbed smartly up the many haphazard stairs and poked his head in the hut's door. "We're ready."

Piero looked up from where he sat on a simple stool. "The case is unlatched?"

"I wouldn't have used the word 'ready' otherwise. I know it has to settle for a while after it's opened."

"Good. Tell Lena to get going."

"Massimo's taking care of that." Niccolo stepped in and studied his companion, who was carefully carving letters into the lid of a small, wooden box. "What's … whoa, is that what I think it is?"

"Of course."

"You still planning on doing that? I know you mentioned it once, but …"

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't I?"

"Heh. It's a right evil bastard you are, Piero."

"There's an art to these things, Nic. It helps to have the right mindset. The Princess will show that Spaniard – or tell him, at least – and they'll both have such fits! They'll be useless as far as planning any resistance goes." He got a wistful look in his eye. "Wish I could see their faces."

Niccolo grinned. "Bastard. And evil. Definitely."

"It's not evil. It's finesse."

"Whatever. Lena will be on her way shortly."

"Good."

. . .

 _The village of Torharl, late morning_

Magda pricked up her ears and dropped her knitting into her lap. _What was that?_

The cry came again, more clearly, a woman's voice. Moving the nearly-completed shift to her knitting basket, she rose and trotted to the door.

A blonde woman stood in the center of the tiny hamlet calling for help. Greta from two houses down came out and called, "What's the need?"

"My husband!" the blonde sobbed. "He fell on a pitchfork!"

"Oh, dear Lord," said Magda, running over to her, Greta on her heels. "Is he … did it …"

"He's alive, but hurt bad! I need the Queen!"

The same thought occurred to both women: _That she does, indeed._

"I came here because we don't have a horse, and I didn't want to leave his side, but …"

"Don't worry," answered Magda, "we can spare a horse to spare a life." Quickly, she ran down the short path to the largest house in sight (which wasn't saying much) and banged on the door. "Thom! Need your horse!"

Very soon, Eric, Thom's youngest son was galloping for the relay post that would get the news to Arendelle City and Queen Elsa.

. . .

 _Elsa's study, 1:50pm_

Anna poked her head in the door. "Did you get any lunch? Oh, never mind." She spotted the tray of small sandwiches near Elsa's left elbow.

"Hello, Anna. I have a question for you."

The redhead flounced over and copped the ottoman from the bay window sitting area, clunking it down beside Elsa. "What's up, sis?"

"You know I've been meaning for some time to update our maps of Arendelle. The surveyors were good, but a lot of the terrain is simply too rugged to measure accurately."

"Right. You said you could fly up really high and see just about the whole kingdom."

"See it, yes. My problem is in recording it."

"Oh. Huh. Yyyyyyeahhhhhh. How do you get the scale right?"

"Exactly." Elsa pulled out a map and unrolled it. "See, here's the cartographer's distance key." Pointing to a small box in the lower right corner, she continued, "This far is a league. But how do I measure that from altitude? I could use triangulation, but then I'd have to know how high I was. Plus, how would I be able to tell if I started to drift?"

Anna drummed her fingers on her knees. "You know what this sounds like?"

Her sister quirked an eyebrow.

"Sounds like a job for Dankert. You're combining geometry, geography, and trigonometry in this one problem. He'll lap it up like cream."

"Well. My word. I don't know why I didn't think of that."

There came a knock on the frame of the open door. They looked up and spotted Sofia, togged out in a riding habit. She gave them a tiny grin and said, "Mind if I join you?"

"Certainly, certainly, come in," replied Elsa. She gave the Countess a once-over. "You're dressed for riding, but don't look as if you've ridden."

"True. I wanted Dankert to go with me, but he had Council work he needed to do."

Elsa pursed her lips in thought. "I didn't know the Council was meeting today. Do you know what it was about?"

"No idea."

"He didn't tell you?"

"All I got was a message via one of the castle pages. A mighty _short_ message. I didn't even get to speak to him."

Anna chuckled at how petulant she sounded. "A page? That's cold. You'll have to get him to make up for stiffing you."

Sofia thought that over for a moment. A sparkle arose in her eye. "I may have just the thing for that."

"Oh, now I have to know!" exclaimed Anna.

A servant came running up to the door just then, out of breath, and wheezed, "Your Majesty. There's been … a signal … from east of here. Village of … Torharl. Man fell … on a pitchfork."

"Oh, dear Lord!" Elsa jumped to her feet. With a thought, she reconfigured her gown into some sturdier clothes, not dissimilar to Sofia's. "Sorry, ladies, I have to go."

Anna followed her. "We'll go, too." Looking back at Sofia, she gave a 'come on' gesture with one arm.

The Countess looked puzzled for a moment, then brightened. Running after the sisters, she said, "This is that healing thing you do, isn't it? I've wanted to see you do that!"

"I've no objection. But let's do hurry."

Once in the courtyard, Elsa quickly crafted one of her large, multi-legged chariots. She was about to climb aboard, but then stopped. _[[ Carlos? ]]_

 _ **[[ Yes, Dear? ]]**_

 _[[ I need a word. ]]_

 _ **[[ I'm practicing with the Guard. ]]**_

 _[[ Yes, I can tell. I'll be right there. ]]_

Very soon, she appeared in the Guard training ground and hurried up to her husband. "I've got a healing mission in Torharl. You mentioned an interest in going along. But we need to leave. Now."

Carlos held up a finger to the Sergeant and mouthed, "One second." To Elsa, he said, "Give me ten or twelve minutes to finish up here, and I'll go with you."

She gave him That Frown. "Ten or … Dear. A farmer fell on his pitchfork. Last _night._ He may be dying, and I can't wait around on your-"

"Last night? By the Saints, he's probably dead already."

"Carlos! What a thing to say!"

"Fine, fine! Sorry. No problem. We'll spar later."

"No, no, carry on, please. What you're doing is _very important_. Obviously. I can handle this alone. I've certainly done it many times before." She whirled and stalked off.

Carlos sighed and faced the Sergeant. "I know how she feels about Arendelle's citizens. Should have kept my mouth shut."

"Just means you get to deal with the same shit the rest of us married types do," countered the other man with a grin. "Nice to see you two aren't _completely_ perfect."

"She's close enough." Opening his private channel to his wife, Carlos Sent, _**[[ I'm sorry for being dense, My Love. I'll see about doing better. Okay? ]]**_

 _[[ You might try paying attention occasionally. ]]_

 _ **[[ Will do. Just please give me a call if you need anything. Anything at all. ]]**_

 _[[ I am quite sure I'll be fine. ]]_

 _ **[[ I have no doubts about your abilities or your determination. It's a matter for me of changing horses in mid-thought. Sometimes I fall in the water. It's a failing. ]]**_

 _[[ I love you anyway. ]]_

 _ **[[ I know. I depend upon that fact to make it through the day. ]]**_

 _[[ This shouldn't take long. Anna and Sofia are going with me as well. ]]_

 _ **[[ Oh! You didn't say that. ]]**_ His amusement was clear through the Sending. _ **[[ Your sister's a regular army by herself. Now I'm not worried. ]]**_

 _[[ Go whack each other with your sharp pieces of metal. I should be back in a couple of hours, tops. ]]_

 _ **[[ I love you. ]]**_

 _[[ Love you back. ]]_

Carlos faced the Sergeant, saluted, and said, "Shall we?"

. . .

"That's it! Right there!" Eric pointed excitedly.

"… Where?"

"That break in the trees, that way!"

"Ah. Thank you." Elsa guided their ride to the spot.

The Queen's icy conveyance settled to the ground in the small clearing fronting the holt. Elsa formed a stair and stepped lightly down, then peered quizzically up at the tiny structure.

A blonde woman came out, her mouth hanging open, then ran over to meet them. "Queen Elsa! Thank the gods you've come! I'm Lena. He's this way." She made to grab Elsa's arm, but stopped herself. Looking between the Queen's company and the hut, she slumped a bit.

"I'm sorry, but … our house is small."

Anna smirked to herself about the understatement in Lena's words. The tiny structure could have fit comfortably in her dressing room. "We'll stay out here, then."

Elsa created some comfortable chairs for them, then she and her two Guard climbed the long, uneven row of flagstone stairs up to the house. To Anna she said, "This shouldn't take long."

Her sister only waved her off. "Go. Do your healing thing."

Sofia pouted. "I wanted to see her do it."

"Maybe next time. It won't be long. Something like this crops up every couple weeks or so, sometimes more often than that." Grinning and shaking her head lightly, Anna added, "God only knows how Arendelle got along before Elsa."

Elsa and her escort ducked and went inside the pitiful hut.

One rather large fellow stood in the corner, a ragged hat pulled low over his face. Elsa's Guards eyed him suspiciously. Elsa noted that the building was divided into two cramped rooms. The front room contained two stools and a small hearth. She could see the foot of a bed in the back room through the partially-open door, and moved that way purposefully. As she reached the portal, a sudden twinge of pain shot through her head, causing her a second of confusion. Why would she be getting a headache? She never _got_ headaches. It was shortly accompanied by an overall feeling of malaise, but she shook that off and firmed up her resolve. She had a job to do. She could investigate this weird feeling later.

Meanwhile, Lena caught the Guards' silent communication and stopped. Curling a finger at the man, she said, "Leif, come here."

He shuffled over, his hands twisting nervously with each other.

"This is my cousin, Leif," she said to the three newcomers. "He's a mute. He's not good around people, but he won't get in your way."

The Guards stared at him, shrugged, and moved to stand at the door to the tiny back room. Leif didn't budge from the center of the room, his gaze focused on the floor.

Elsa, fighting off the unpleasant sensations, entered the back room, and took a seat on the rude stool by the injured man's bed. "Are you Ole Sigurdsson?"

He nodded, a grimace of pain racking his features.

Lena had come in after her and closed the door. This served as a signal to 'Leif', who drew two hidden daggers and drove them up through both Guards' throats and into their brains. The men fell without a sound.

Elsa asked, "May I see the wound?"

Catching a glimpse of Lena moving into the corner behind the door, Ole nodded again. Elsa moved the threadbare quilt out of the way and sent her healing aura into the supposedly damaged flesh … but then she frowned. "Your gut's suffered no harm!"

"No," said Lena, behind her, "but _you_ will."

Jumping up and whipping around, Elsa called up her power … or tried to.

Lena yanked the lid off a dark, hexagonal box and shoved it at her; a box that held something loathsome, and twisted, and evil. Elsa's magic faded to a horrid buzzing in the back of her head as the room began to spin around her.

Using the reinforced-and-sigil-covered leather glove, Lena grabbed the Hand, stepped forward, and pressed it against Elsa's chest.

The Queen gave a short, pained groan and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

. . .

Carlos was in the middle of another fencing lesson when the pain hit, and nearly got cut when he winced and jerked. Staggering back, he dropped his blade and grabbed his head with both hands.

Sergeant Hagen sheathed his own sword and took a step forward. "Your Highness?"

 _What the Hell? What was that?_ The initial spike of agony quickly faded, and a sort of blanket of numbness spread in its place. He shook his head; shook it again. Then a horrible suspicion took him. _**[[ Elsa? ]]**_

Silence.

Absence.

Void.

He knew she was still in Arendelle. She'd told him where she was going on her mission of mercy. But now … now there was nothing. The light, soothing echo of her presence in his mind was gone, completely gone, for the first time since their magical melding.

 _No. NO! It couldn't be!_

He looked around in panic, flames erupting from his skin. Immediately, his clothes began to burn. "Elsa!" Grabbing up his sword, he sprinted for the stables … but then he stopped and looked to the southeast, bellowed, **"ELSA!"** and shot into the air like a missile.

Sergeant Hagen could only stand there and stare after him in dumbstruck shock.

. . .

"Well," said Ole, "that was anticlimactic." He got to his feet smoothly, slid aside a panel beside the headboard, and two men stepped out. Both held pistols as they took in the scene.

Lena knelt and punched Elsa across the face, hard enough to break the skin on her cheek. Then she punched her twice more, breaking her nose, stood, kicked her, and was drawing her leg back for another kick when Niccolo caught her and said, "Stop it."

"Let me go!"

"No. We have to deliver her alive, more or less, so I can't have you trying to kill her. You know what's in store for her. It's much worse than anything you could do."

Drawing a ragged breath, Lena shook herself loose from Niccolo and turned a withering glare on Elsa. "Witch! Filth! Now you'll pay! Now everyone will see and know you for the sorceress you are!" She spat on the Queen.

With a bemused grin, Niccolo asked, "Why do you hate her so much? The rest of this kingdom seems to be in love with her."

"She murdered my daughter."

"… Did she, now. How interesting."

Piero's ears perked up. "Murder, you say? Did she cast a spell on her?"

Lena steadied herself, took a couple of deep breaths, and said, softly, "Brigid was out … playing … in the forest. The Freeze happened so quickly … we couldn't …" She swallowed. Once more. Breathed. "We didn't find her for two days."

"And that was when the Queen dumped an ell of snow on the kingdom, in July, two years ago?"

Ole, who had come up and taken Lena in his arms, nodded. "Her vile storm killed Brigid."

"I see. So, Queen Elsa didn't do it intentionally."

Lena turned on him, teeth bared, and hissed, "You sound just like my father! I don't give two shits _why_ she did it! Brigid's dead, and it's her fault!"

Piero had busied himself in tying the Hand around Elsa's neck as Lena fumed, then he pulled a small, curved tool from a pocket. Niccolo noticed it, smirked, and said, "A gouge? You carry a gouge with you?"

Piero shrugged. "Knew I'd need it. It's quicker and easier than a knife." He grabbed Elsa by the shoulders and hoisted her up by the bed so that her head lolled back on the covers, then peeled open her left eye.

. . .

Outside, Anna's pacing had picked up speed. "It's been, like, ten minutes. What's taking so long?"

Sofia raised a brow and asked, "Is that not normal?"

"No! Not for something so straightforward. He got poked with a pitchfork. She can heal that in half a minute, easy."

"Maybe she's taking some time to talk with them?"

"Oh, I doubt that. With a Swedish invasion force scheduled to show up any moment, I don't think she'd let herself get distracted."

Sofia rose and walked toward the hut. She noted the door was open a crack, so she went up the long, uneven stairs and pushed it open … and shrieked.

Anna was at her side in seconds, both swords in her hands as she took in the sight of the dead guards. Screaming, "Elsa!" she launched herself at the other door, kicking it smartly off its hinges to ricochet off the far wall.

The room beyond was empty.

"Elsaaaaaaa!" Frantically, she whirled, looking everywhere, but the tiny chamber was bare. "Where'd they go? Where's Elsa? There's not even a damned window! Where …" She stopped, becalmed by the small box sitting on the low bed.

Sofia squeezed in beside her. "There's no one outside! Not where I could see. How … Anna? That box has your name on it."

Anna stored her swords and bent over the box. _'For Princess Anna'_ was carved into the top.

Sofia whispered, "What is it?"

Every hair on Anna's body stood erect. Carefully picking it up, she took the lid off the box. Inside was a small piece of parchment that carried the words _'A keepsake for you from your sister'_ in an elegant hand.

Frowning, Sofia muttered, "Keepsake? What does that …"

Anna lifted the parchment.

Both women screamed.

Anna dropped the box.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _Author's Note:_**

 ** _I'm not usually very good at making small talk under unpleasant circumstances. That's why I tend to avoid funerals, if possible. All I can say about ... well, what just happened, and what is going to happen soon, is "Don't shoot the messenger." Keep in mind also that I am NOT George R. R. Martin._**


	24. The Loss

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **One of the Great Questions throughout human history has asked why bad things happen to good people. No one has ever come up with an answer that made me happy.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three: The Loss**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle, Saturday 28 May 1842, late dawn_

Early in the morning, just after arising, Dankert Knutsen received a message from Countess Sofia. It was short, and delivered by a page, and asked that he meet her in the stables before breakfast. Wondering what she was up to, and expecting that she wanted a quick ride, he donned a habit and trundled eagerly down to where she kept her horse. The last thing he remembered was stepping into the dimly-lit corridor between the stalls …

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _10:25am_

While it was true that Countess Liesel had no love for Elsa or her magic, and wouldn't deign to accept a Lens when offered, she understood the risks involved for those who didn't wear them, should they have ill intent toward the Queen. She had sighted one of the Sentinels once, aided by a spyglass and a sharp-eyed lookout, and shuddered at the thought of facing off against one of them. So, when some of her coterie asked permission to have Lenses implanted, she (after a bit of mental wrestling) allowed them to do so. Now, with a mercenary force at her disposal ready to mount an assault on the castle, she was glad of her decision. With half a dozen of her men equipped with Lenses at the van of the force, they would have nothing to fear. She all but chortled as she thought of how this would turn the Queen's sorcery back on her royal, magical, stuffed-up self.

Captain Felix Mayer stood at her side as they watched his troops march past. It took the seven hundred men less than ten minutes to form up in the large meadow in the northern reach of her estate. His pride in the precision of their maneuvers lay plain on his face. This series of war games, he felt sure, would make their victory all but certain. Though the Arendelle forces outnumbered his more than three to one, he knew they had seen decades of peace. They would be complacent. Lazy. Lax in their training. His men, on the _decidedly_ other hand, were all veterans of multiple battles, hardened in conflict and ready to take life without hesitation. Once they reached their forward position, only a few hours from the city, they would strike in the dark, taking the Guard and the Watch by stealth and sudden death. And if the Queen appeared, so much the better. One exposure to the Most Holy Relic would do for her.

As the men began their mock battle, Countess Liesel couldn't help the grin that crept across her lips. The Captain noticed and asked, "Have you seen war games before?"

"Never," she whispered. "This is so … enthralling. I anticipate your victory with more relish than you can know."

"And I yours, once the sorceress is dead. Then you will be elevated to the throne, as should have been your right all along." _And_ , ran his thoughts, _I will be by your side. Prince Consort of the Regency has a nice ring to it, I think. And we still have better than a year before Princess Anna reaches her majority. That's plenty of time to arrange an accident._ Nor did he scorn the Countess's many charms. As his mind wandered to the previous night and the vigorous use they'd made of her bed, he knew this to be a vastly better contract than he had counted on.

"When will your spies return?"

"Possibly tomorrow. Certainly by Monday. Then we can plan the attack."

"Yes," she answered, voice low. She turned an eye his way.

He caught her stare and asked, "Is there something I can help you with, Countess?"

"I believe there may be." She threaded an arm through his and turned them toward the manor. "Are your men standing in need of your leadership at this moment?"

"Not at all. The lieutenants are calling the maneuvers, and the sergeants are controlling the squads. These are courses they have run before. Today is simply a chance to hone what they already know."

"Very well. I would like your opinion on an issue of décor."

"Truly? Fashion is hardly my forte." He realized suddenly upon catching her slight grin, _Oh!_ _ **That**_ _décor!_ Taking a firmer grip on her hand, he continued, "Though I will, of course, do my best."

"Oh, I'm sure of it."

Their gait back to the manor might have been a touch faster than was perfectly seemly.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Half an hour before noon_

Field Marshall Bladberg stopped in the narrow saddle of land that made up the pass King Charles had told him about. Sitting his horse, he watched as his men began crossing into the bowl-like upland valley on the other side. Calling two of his majors, he gave instructions for bivouac. They would make camp here, allow the men a day of rest, and then head on into Arendelle.

 _Or perhaps not_ , he thought. There was still that satchel to consider, and he had been itching to open it ever since they came in sight of the rugged mountains that made up the small kingdom's eastern border. Another handful of minutes passed as the soldiers filed through. He had one cohort of light cavalry to support the other four (all infantry), and the pass was enough of a strait that only two horses could walk by abreast comfortably. How the King had ever come to know of this place, only God could say.

His horse shied, which jerked him to one side and sent a small lance of pain up his back. He had the beginnings of a boil on one butt cheek, and squirmed, trying to find a less tender position to sit.

"Field Marshall."

Bladberg looked to his left. "Colonel. Did the Major communicate my plans?"

"We will camp here tonight, and give the troops a day to rest tomorrow."

The other man nodded. "I will send scouts out to assure that the path to Arendelle City is clear and safe … eh, as safe as these things can be." He shook his head, then had to calm his horse when one of the passing riders kicked up a rock that hit his mount in the chest. "Easy, lad."

"And then straight on to the Capital, and soon there will be no more kingdom of Arendelle. It will be a subject state, as it should have been a generation ago."

"Assuming that is the King's purpose."

"… What? Ah, Sir?"

"We have enough men to invade, and to overcome the City defenses, and probably those of the palace. I have seen it, and while it is architecturally pleasing, it makes a poor redoubt."

"Yes? And why the uncertainty about our goal?"

"Because while we have enough men to invade, we do not have enough to occupy. Not by half. The Arendellians are a fiercely independent lot, and they love their Queen. They won't suffer a new ruler easily."

"Then rebellion will get the treatment it deserves. Mount a few dozen gibbets and fill them with examples. That will stop the rabble."

The Field Marshall examined his second-in-command closely for a handful of moments. _He's rather more sanguinary than I like. I'll have to watch him._ "Let us hope it doesn't come to that. My goal is to accomplish the invasion quickly and with a minimum of lost life, on either side. If we can show a significantly superior force, they may not immediately resist."

"You would know best in that."

Bladberg didn't answer, instead studying his men. It would take the rest of the day to get all five thousand men through the pass. He sighed and repositioned himself. He'd be here for a while, at least until they set up his headquarters tent, and his boil wouldn't be giving him respite. As with all the other unpleasant situations he'd had to deal with in his station, he bore it stoically. He had to set a good example.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _English Channel, noon_

Ten ships-of-the-line at full sail was a sight most people never got to see … or would want to. Any other ship in the path of the small armada quickly changed course to stay well away.

On a subconscious level, all of this gratified Francisco Albeda de Corona y Valdez, the _Contra Almirante_ on the flagship. His preference at all times and under all conditions was to be at sea, and Espartero's orders had given him great joy. The opportunity to blow large holes in some of Weselton's fleet was just a bonus. The new thirty-six-pounder long-range guns on these ships launched explosive shot. He _really_ hoped they would find an excuse to use them.

Standing at the rail around the forecastle, he watched the white cliffs in the distance as they slowly got bigger. Though he had no love for the Brits, Avalon itself held many charms, and the cliffs of Dover were near the top of the list to Francisco.

"Almirante."

Turning slightly, he addressed the man who had approached. "Yes, Captain?"

"The navigator said to tell you he expects we will reach Arendelle, God willing, two days from now."

"Two, eh?" The _Almirante_ turned a practiced eye to the sky, examined the sails, and nodded to himself. "That sounds about right."

The man gave a perfectly correct bow and took his leave.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Just outside Arendelle's fjord, 1:00pm_

"Gentlemen?"

The others gathered in the large cabin gave their attention to the man standing by the door, Oberst Martin Pfyffer von Altishofen, their Commandant.

"I wanted to emphasize once more before we arrive that the average citizen of Arendelle is going to have an extraordinarily cosmopolitan attitude toward faith. I don't want it to come as a shock when people who are _not_ Catholic are not _bothered_ by our _being_ Catholic. The Church, as you know, already has representation here …"

"And I, for one, am eager to see this 'ice cathedral' we've heard about," interjected one of the lieutenants. "If it actually exists."

The Commandant shrugged. "We have reports from several sources, as I believe I outlined before. I would be careful, were I you, about throwing doubt on Queen Elsa's abilities." He nodded. "You'll get to see them soon enough. But that may have little to do with your duties, once we arrive." He pointed to a clock on the wall. "Which will be in approximately an hour. Now, go see to your squads. Make sure to impress upon them the importance of maintaining good relations with the people of the city. His Holiness wishes to make a positive impression upon the Queen. With luck and God's guidance, we may yet bring her into the Church." He stepped away from the door and waved them off. They hurried to do his bidding.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The North Sea, west of Denmark, 1:30pm_

The Captain of the _Rogue of India_ , one of Weselton's most powerful iron-clad steamships, lowered his spyglass and tapped it against his hand. "There they are. It's about bloody time."

"Sir?"

Turning to his First Mate, Captain Alexander Root of His Grace's Navy stated, "That would be the Southern Isles contingent."

The First Mate, a man by the name of Hobbes, squinted southward. "Ah. Aye. I make it three hours to rendezvous, Sir."

"Indeed. Took the blighters long enough. And His Grace wanted to make a point of presenting a united front to the Ice Witch." He _tsked_ and added, "As much ambition as those three Princes have, you would think they would have been a little more punctual."

"Aye, Sir."

"Well. Nothing for it, then. Make ready to receive their Highnesses."

"Aye, Sir." He scuttled off, yelling at a few of the men to attend him.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _2:43pm, Immediately after the attack on Elsa_

The last day of the week was always a busy one in the Market, nearly as busy as Monday, but for different reasons. So, the pair of Sentinels weaving about among the stalls were effectively hidden from farther away than half a dozen paces. When they both _**stopped**_ and held utterly still, though, three of the patrons nearly tripped against them.

 _{{ FEEL THAT? }}_

{{ I FEEL }}

 _{{ WHERE MAKER }}_

{{ CAN'T FEEL }}

 _{{ WHAT DO? }}_

{{ FIND MAKER }}

 _{{ IS GOOD }}_

They turned in unison in the direction of the last location they had sensed for Elsa, and trotted off toward the locus of their unease. Across the kingdom, every other Sentinel did precisely the same.

. . .

At Elsa's re-formed ice palace, an enormous, bipedal construct of ultra-hard solidified water raised its head. Stood. Turned about.

"Mommy?"

Only silence answered him.

He went to stand on the balcony. This one faced west and so was in full sun. Marshmallow cast around for the telltale trace of her mind, but found nothing. He walked to the railing, looking generally southward, and stared off in that direction for half a minute. Then he vaulted off the balcony, falling some fifty ells to the rocky ground below, and striking sparks off the stone with his feet when he landed. Then he set up a steady, rapid lope toward the last place he had sensed his creator.

. . .

In the palace, near the kitchen, Olaf was playing with a curtain, holding it up under his flurry, letting the snow accumulate, then flicking it off at the wall. The flakes would stick briefly before melting. He had a small puddle going at the wall's base.

Something twinged in his head, causing him a momentary shock. When the pain cleared, he blinked a few times, listening hard for something he had never before not-heard. A background music he hadn't noticed was no longer there. Worry mounting, he trundled quickly to Elsa's office, but it was empty. A guard was stationed there, a man Olaf knew, called McLaren, and Olaf asked him, "Do you know where Elsa is?"

"Aye, Olaf. She went on a mission o' mercy, so she did. Took off right smart about, oh, an hour ago, I make it."

The little snowman seemed to be having trouble gathering his thoughts. "Did she … was she by herself?"

"Tha Princess went wi' her, as did tha Countess. I'm not knowin' who else."

"Oh … okay. Huh. Okay. I, um … well … um, thank you." He wandered aimlessly down the corridor, trying with all his might to puzzle out what felt so wrong.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Seven minutes after Anna discovers that Elsa was taken_

"She's _got_ to be still alive!" Anna insisted, "Otherwise, her … her …" She gripped Sofia's forearm with rather more force than necessary, making the Countess wince and hiss in a breath. "Her ice … is still here." Pointing at their huge, icy steed, she added, "We've talked about it. Elsa's sure it would be gone if …" Another bout of sobs overtook her. They heard hoofbeats, and their heads jerked up to stare as three of the Guard trotted up on palace horses: Sergeant Ole Arden, and two men-at-arms, Edvard and… Dag! Yes, Dag. Anna knew them all, and felt pleased that she hadn't forgotten his name; it meant "day" and it fit because of his normally sunny disposition. (It's odd, the random bits of weirdness that will run across the mind when one is in a shrieking panic.) She ran toward them. "They took Elsa!"

The men jumped off their horses and came to her. She grabbed the Sergeant by the arms and sobbed, "They took her! Elsa's gone! Disappeared! They took her!"

He, too, winced at her grip, but shook off the pain and asked, "Who? Who took the Queen?"

"I don't … don't know! Elsa got a mes-message about some farmer who fe-fell on his pitchfork. But they're gone! And … and …" Leaning against him, she hiccupped and continued, "… they took … her eyes."

Sergeant Arden's mouth dropped open. "… What?"

"They had … there was a … box …" Her sobs robbed her of her voice.

Sofia stepped up then. She was nearly as shaken, but kept her speech even. "Those that took her gouged out her eyes and left them for us to find."

"But … but, how? How would … surely the Queen's magic …"

"It was that damned Hand!" screamed Anna. "I know it was! It had to be! Otherwise, she would have skewered those …" She caught herself, drew a deep breath. Another. "We looked for her. For them. All around. They killed the Guards. And they were gone. We don't … know how." She raised a hand. Let it drop. "Maybe magic?"

The Sergeant turned to his men. "On your horses. They have to be around here somewhere. We'll flush 'em out." Quickly sizing up the terrain, he said, "Dag, you and Edvard head around the south end of the hill. I'll take the north." They were mounted and galloping off in a trice.

Anna slumped to the ground, her tears starting back up. "I should have gone with her."

"That's how I feel," answered Sofia, easing herself down beside the Princess. "If we'd been there … maybe … I don't know. Maybe with more of us, they wouldn't have tried?"

"They dropped the guards without raising any kind of alarm." Anna crossed her arms around her knees and rested her head on them. "I feel so useless. They took my sister. They blinded her."

"She can … heal that. Right? I mean, when we get her back. She has that healing aura, doesn't she? Won't that, ah, restore her eyes?"

A ragged sniff answered her. "I don't know. Maybe? She's healed some … pretty awful stuff." That seemed to encourage the redhead. "Yeah. We'll get her back. We'll gut the low-down bastards that took her, and then she'll heal her eyes."

"Right! I'm sure she will."

"We'll get her back." It came out a whisper.

"Yes."

They sat like that, silent, for a handful of minutes. Then Sofia raised her head and frowned. Turning her gaze to the sky, she yelped, "What's that?"

. . .

 _A few minutes earlier_

" _ **ELSAAAA!"**_ Carlos's tortured cry echoed around Arendelle City as he shot skyward. More than one mother pulled her small child to her breast in fear at the agony in that one word.

He knew approximately what direction and about how far she intended to go, and she'd been gone long enough to get there. He knew she'd be on one of her big ice contraptions. It ought to be easy enough to spot from the air. He gained altitude, rising until the trees became an even, green carpet, and scanned the land below for signs of his Beloved.

Arriving at the area he wanted, he had to fly back and forth many times before catching a glimpse of something large, white, and spidery, and then he fell from the sky like a meteor. It was the scream of his passage that Sofia heard.

He slammed into the ground in a three-point landing, leapt to his feet, took in the sorrow of the two women, and demanded, "Where's Elsa?"

Sofia was having rather a lot of trouble wrapping her mind around this situation. She wasn't sure whether she was more shocked by his apparent ability to fly, the redly-glowing sword in his hand, or the fact that he hadn't a single stitch on. She swallowed hard and began to explain, but Anna rushed past her and threw herself into his arms, wailing, "They took her! They took her! They blinded her and they took her!"

He held Anna at arm's length, his gaze boring into her very essence. "What was that?"

"They … they gouged … gouged out her eyes. Left them for us to find. And she's gone!" That last word stretched off into another racking sob.

"Where were they?"

Sofia pointed at the tiny hovel. "She went in there. But nobody came out."

He flew instantly up to the door, took a look inside, grabbed one edge of the door, and ripped the wall off. He took the Guards' bodies and hauled them outside, laying them out at the base of the stairs. Anna and Sofia had trotted over. The Countess asked, "What are you going to do?"

Pointing back toward the ice creation, he said, "Wait over there."

They felt every iota of the steel in his voice, and obeyed immediately, watching him the while.

He went back into the hut and began blowing it apart. It wasn't long before he burnt through the panel beside the bed, exposing a narrow crevice. A quick examination revealed footprints, and his brow grew even darker. Stepping back to the tiny porch, he said, "You should go back to the palace."

"What? No!" protested Anna. "I can help! I can …"

He stopped her words by producing a large fireball around one hand. "You can stay out of the way. I will get your sister back. This I swear. But I must do it alone. This isn't something you can help with, nor will it be something you want to see." He doused the flame and pointed northwest. "Better get moving." And he disappeared into the dark crack in the rock.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Elsewhere, some time later_

Elsa fought down her dry heaves – again – and tried to concentrate on the horrible thing her captors had attached to her. She felt … empty. As if all her energy were being sapped somehow. If there were such a thing as a reverse-ley-line this would be it. Any time she so much as gave a magic twitch, the awful pain and nausea ramped up to crippling levels. But she had realized, at length, that she was on her own here. One of her captors had crowed it in her face as soon as she regained consciousness – not that she'd wanted to. "We accomplished what the Guild of Assassins couldn't do!" he had chortled, adding, "No one who can do anything about it even knows you've been taken. We'll be long gone out of your kingdom and put to sea before any word gets back to your Guard." He'd also been liberal with information that the talisman cloaked the party from magical detection. Not that she had taken much of it in. Her world was hurt and darkness and confusion.

The talisman. It made thinking difficult, as if something were intentionally clouding her mind. She had to try again and again to keep her focus. She was … on horseback. Yes, on a horse. But not her horse. This one was brown. She tried to reach for the reins, and it came home to her again that her wrists were tied to the saddle's pommel. Her face was a blossom of pain; never having had her nose broken before, she had no idea where the fiery jolts were coming from. She tried to open her eyes … and then the realization came home to her (once more) that she no longer _had_ eyes. That brought the thought forward, after some effort, that she should heal herself. She tried to activate her healing aura … and the horrible, wrenching void took her again, sucking her magic away and leaving agony and disgust and emptiness in its place. But this time … this time a low, sibilant voice spoke in her mind, a voice that commanded all her attention, a voice that said, with moist, sucking overtones, _**So nice. Oh, so very, very nice.**_

The voice was … wet. Wet with slime and filth and degradation, and it stuck to her mind, sank jagged claws into her center, and she was defenseless.

She physically cringed from the voice, trying to scream, but finding no air. Nightmares from her past, nightmares of loss and loneliness and dragging, crippling fear, attacked her from all sides, pulled her down into the midden-heap of her hopelessness, and she sobbed in terror.

 _**You are mine now**_ came the whisper, in a caress like hot tar. _**Won't this be fun?**_

Elsa's consciousness faded away in the roaring laughter …

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _About half an hour later_

Carlos had carefully carved his way through the obviously intentional rock-fall that blocked the long cave at one point. He was powerful, but he had no wish to bring the mountain down on his head, and he had to stay lucid, had to stay in the chase. He feared in his innermost parts that if he didn't get to Elsa soon, all might be lost.

When he finally came out the other side, one of the first things he noticed was the jumble of hoofprints. He used his sword-point to outline one, then opened his connection to the astral plane. If he could establish a sympathetic vibration …

The ward-weaving took a few minutes, but when he was done, and activated the magic, that one set of hoof-prints glowed in a soft, blue outline. The telltale track stretched away, headed generally south. Carlos's lips twitched grimly. He took to the air again.

. . .

Six men comprised the party escorting Elsa out of her kingdom. Six men who, for a variety of reasons, did not fit in with society, who had elected not to follow the rules and precepts that governed others. Six men who had all decided at some point they had nothing left to lose, nothing better to do, and had entered the world of kidnapping, terror, and murder. They'd been at it for some years before Papella contacted them, and were gaining a reputation in certain circles. This job would make their careers, and they seemed unable to keep from celebrating that fact.

Elsa didn't hear any of it. She'd been all but comatose for most of an hour and had nearly fallen from her saddle. Unable to tie her in effectively, they had bundled her together with the smallest man among them, on the largest horse they had. It slowed them only marginally, and they knew they would be out of Arendelle by sunset, anyway.

They had covered all the angles, taken all the necessary precautions to make sure of their escape. If they happened to run across any patrols, they would kill whomever needed killing, and continue. Their path lay close to none of the few villages between the site of the assault and the border. So, it was with an almost jaunty spirit they made their way along.

That ended when the two men in the lead disappeared in a blinding flash of sizzling light. Less than a second later, the two at the rear met a similar end.

Carlos altered his trajectory, coming in low from the side. He had spent a harried minute overhead, calculating his attack, before striking, and meant to take them all out as quickly as possible. All but one. His blindingly fast approach on the remaining lone horseman ended with a vicious swipe of his sword. The man's head parted ways with his shoulders. Then Carlos dropped his sword on the ground and landed behind the man holding Elsa.

He had known the Hand would affect him, though not to what extent. A brief probe had revealed the thing as a horrid blot of evil in the astral plane, and he'd felt the tug on his magic. The deep weakness that hit him then didn't surprise him. He muscled through it, grabbed the man's arms, and wrenched them up and back, forcing them out of their sockets. The man gave a shriek and slumped over.

This extra weight caused the horse to buck, and it threw Carlos off. The unconscious criminal hit the ground like a handful of mud, and didn't move. But Elsa was tied on. When the horse bolted, she began listing to port.

Carlos sprinted after them, catching up to the horse and grabbing its reins, then slashing Elsa's bonds. The Hand brushed for a fraction of a second against his skin …

… When he came to, he looked around blurrily. The horse was still there, still spooked. Elsa lay not two paces away. Obviously, he had only been out for a few seconds. Good. He rubbed at his aching head, then focused on the thing around her neck. Picking up his sword where he'd dropped it, he rose and staggered over to her, worked the blade up under the cord, and lifted it off her.

The longer he stayed close to it, the weaker he felt, so he gave it a toss to land a couple dozen paces away. Then he was gathering his beloved wife into his arms. "Elsa. Elsa. Darling, I'm here. I'm so sorry. So sorry." He brushed her hair away from her face, the image of her sunken eyelids galvanizing his grief. "I should have been there. Should have been with you. So sorry. We'll heal you. We'll get your eyes back." Holding her close, he rocked slowly to and fro. Elsa, for her part, was utterly unresponsive.

Finally admitting to himself after a handful of minutes that she wasn't going to wake up right away, that she had been through Hell and would need time to mend, he turned his furious gaze toward the horrible thing they'd draped around her neck. Laying Elsa gently, gently on the ground, Carlos rose and stepped over to where his sword lay. He spared a withering glance at the still-unconscious kidnapper, and took a few seconds to burn the man's boots off. He wouldn't be walking away on _those_ feet now. Scooping up the weapon, he headed toward the Hand.

. . .

 _Three Millennia Ago …_

 _It had taken the lives of many in his army, but King tcher'Tayn had finally defeated the evil Troll and his undead forces. The combined power of the Man of God and the three Fey-Touched that traveled with him had overcome the last of the eldritch barriers, laying the foul being open to physical attack. The fierce battle raged over half the steppe, but eventually a lucky shot from a blessed arrow had struck home, paralyzing their foe. At last, the only Troll to ever become a Sorcerer lay helpless before them. Battered and bloodied though they be, the victors held grim smiles as they gazed down on the motionless figure._

 _The King said, "Blind him."_

 _The Man of God said, "Take his hands."_

 _One of the Fey-Touched said, "And his tongue. No mistakes this time."_

. . .

 _The Present …_

Carlos stomped over to where the Hand lay, blade in hand, his rage mounting to towering heights, accurately reflected in the flames shooting off his body. As he approached, his fires sputtered, waned, and his steps became labored, but he stood in front of the horrid thing, raised his sword, and brought it down with every erg of his considerable strength.

A ringing report knocked him briefly back, deafened, then echoed through the woods, not fading. The lingering reverberations set his teeth on edge. Nearby birds took to the air, flying away as fast as possible. A low wind kicked up.

He raised the sword again, struck the evil thing again.

The second concussion was easily twice as strong as the first, and drove Carlos to his knees. But he saw, through his sweat, the withered skin take on a sort of crazed appearance, like an improperly glazed piece of stoneware. Low, red light leaked out here and there.

. . .

 _Three Millennia Ago …_

 _Oogha knew there was no way out this time. So did the demon living in his head._

 _That Infernal Being crowed as it danced behind his eyes. **Mine! Mine! You are mine now! The envy of all Hell will I be!**_

' _You owe me one last boon.'_

 _**I can do nothing against the Agent of Light and his foul arrow. You should have been more careful.**_

' _Ah, but this is a thing you will do because you want to.'_

 _The Being paused. **How so?**_

' _Because I want revenge. Only revenge.'_

. . .

 _The Present ..._

Regaining his feet, Carlos shook his head against the rising cacophony of screams beating at his mind, lifted the blade once more in both hands, braced himself, and struck.

With a detonation that set the very ground in motion, the Hand shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

The few creatures still left in the immediate vicinity screamed and ran.

Nearly half a league distant, a shepherd gasped and slammed his hands over his ears. His sheep bleated and scattered, tripping every other step. In a village nearly that far in the other direction, every inhabitant fell to the ground, unconscious.

The fragments of the evil artifact rose to hang still in the air, then slowly swirl around in a growing vortex of smoke, a greasy hole in reality.

. . .

 _Three Millennia Ago ..._

 _**Revenge? … Hmm. Tricky.**_

' _Not so. They are going to take me apart. Leave a curse on my hands. A curse that will rob the Fey-Touched of their power.'_

 _**… Hmm … It's not that I don't want to. Might be fun, but …**_

' _You owe me this. I am not yet dead. Our contract still holds. I demand this final boon.'_

 _**Yeah, yeah, sure. Don't lose your shit, I'm just messin' with ya. I can manage that.**_

' _Do so, and I will be content to be your plaything for eternity.'_

 _**Heh. You say that now …**_

' _Hell will hold no surprises for me.'_

 _**We'll see about that, won't we?**_

. . .

 _The Present ..._

Livid sparks leapt and complained within the tiny storm, gathering in a knot at the center, and Carlos suddenly understood that his actions might not be free of consequences. Bolting back to where Elsa lay, her blood-crusted, sightless face turned toward the fading sun, he scooped her up and ran as hard as he could, the rising ambient magic lending him extra speed. He could not yet fly, but he found he could sprint nearly that fast.

It would almost be enough.

. . .

 _Three Millennia Ago ..._

 _And so it was done._

 _Oogha had long learned to send pain away, and this was no different. The loss of his eyes, tongue, and limbs hurt him not at all, though it prevented – as the victors knew – his use of Infernal magic. That confidence made them less careful than they might have been._

 _A pyre was constructed, a colossal structure of dry wood some five man-heights tall, and Oogha's twisted form was placed within. But in moving the enormously heavy being, not all of his limbs stayed in their original positions. Three times, and three more, did something fall off, to be scooped up and laid back across the rocky body. The seventh time, no one saw, and one Hand lay exposed in the trampled grass. The day was nearly done, though, the men tired and sore, and the burden of carrying such wickedness sat roughly on them. The fire was lit. The prayers were said. The men watched through the night, until come the dawn nothing was left but ash._

 _It happened that a soldier stepped on the Hand, recoiling in disgust when he saw it. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'the Troll is dead. No more can his Hand give hurt.' He picked it up, secreted it in his pack. 'It will make a fine souvenir of this campaign, and an interesting item to hang over the hearth in my tent at home.'_

 _*Souvenir?* mused that piece of Evil which still inhabited the Hand. **Yeah, we'll go with that. Knock y'self out.**_

. . .

 _The Present ..._

The whirling shards crept closer to the center, their speed increasing, the blackness expanding, until with a stentorian detonation, the magic – magic stolen and stored up and condensed for almost three thousand years – was freed.

It lit the clearing, an eight-sided pillar of unbearable darkness stabbing the sky, while a ring of blinding blue spread out into the forest. The two sorts of magic Oogha could use, and therefore the sorts his Hand could store, were finally able to get away from each other, and lost no time in doing so.

Carlos was nearly eight hundred paces away when the blast front caught up with them.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **End Note:**_

 _ **I apologize, truly I do, for yet another cliffhanger. But this, believe it or not, was a logical place to stop, and it's been over two months since my last post, and damn it. I'm ashamed to have left you all out to dry for so long. It was not in any way intentional. I hope this helps to make up for it, a little.**_

 _ **Reviews = Love!**_


	25. Actions Yield Consequences

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who have stuck with me through this so far. Believe me, my posting 'schedule', if you want to grace this haphazard mess with such a title, frustrates me more than it does you.**_

 _ **Please keep something in mind: I love Elsa. Hell, I'm obsessed with her, to be brutally frank. I think she has one of the most poignant stories of any Disney character, and I desperately want her to have the happy ending she so richly deserves.**_

 _ **My Muse, on the other hand, can be a heartless little thing. (Exhibit A: She made me write "Served Cold", which is … ehhh, 'icky' enough, that I didn't post it here. Not a happy ending.) But I just wanted to say, spoiler or not, that this story does have a happy ending. Some of you might consider it a tad disguised, but … well … please trust me on this.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four: Actions Yield Consequences**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle, just south of the City, Saturday_ _28 May 1842, 4:50pm_

Three Guardsmen plus two women split among three horses didn't move very quickly, but they did their best, trying to conserve the animals' strength. Sofia was a bundle of nerves. Anna was nearly a basket case. Her quiet sobs hadn't eased off at all; she was taking as much comfort as she could from the level of determination in Carlos's voice and actions, but the not knowing …

As the tallest tower of the castle peeked through the trees, Anna mumbled, "Feel so useless."

Sofia looked over and gave her friend a weak smile. "He'll fix it. You'll see."

Anna had her face buried in the broad back of Guardsman Dag. (His shirt was rather wet there, but he did his best to ignore it.) "I just wish … I could … communicate with him … somehow." She hiccupped and drew a long breath. "I trust him. I do. He's really amazing. But he's just one man. And … and if they have that … thing … that Hand … how would he … I mean, wouldn't it …"

Sofia, in the minutes between Carlos's departure and the Guards' return, had impressed rather firmly on Anna that there were some obvious things she needed to know about the Prince Consort. Anna's answers told her quite a bit about the royal couple that left her silent and thoughtful. "Maybe. Probably not. I think, if they were … if it were already sapping Elsa, knowing how powerful she is, I'd think it probably couldn't, well … _handle_ more than that? I'm surely no expert on magic, but that makes sense. Doesn't it?"

"I guess. But not knowing is killing me."

"I understand." She chewed on her lip for a moment. "I … it doesn't bear thinking about."

"No. It doesn't."

Two of the horses shied as a sudden muted tingle ran through the company. The Sergeant exclaimed, "What the Hell was that?"

Anna, her face in a sudden rictus, pitched back off the horse to land heavily on one side.

"Anna!" Sofia slid off, closely followed by Dag and Edvard, and ran to her dear friend. "Anna, what's wrong?"

The Princess's eyes rolled up right before she threw up what she would later describe as her last twenty-five meals. That's when Sofia noticed the glow and took a step back …

. . .

 _All over Arendelle ..._

As the Sentinels traveled toward the spot where last they had sensed their creator, a great wave of force lanced through them. For a moment they stopped, paralyzed; then they shook off the weird sensation and picked up the pace. Several seconds later, another, more focused type of power hit them, and they repeated the process. Most of them didn't notice any difference since they were traveling alone. In some cases, though, a group of two or three or four was running together, and could see the changes wrought in each other.

{{ I say, old fellow, you seem to have picked up a bit of mass. }}

 **{{ I beg your pardon? }}**

The third member of the party concurred with the first one's statement. _{{ It would appear we have all gained a measure of size and heft. Roughly double, I would say. Perhaps more. }}_

{{ Indeed. }} The first one agreed, then gave his equivalent of a frown. {{ I also, shall we say, seem to have a bit more on the ball than before. }}

The other two glanced at each other and nodded. _{{ I felt that as well, just after that last surge. What do you think it is? }}_

 **{{ Doubtless it is connected to whatever has happened to our Creator. }}**

{{ I suppose we shall discover that when we find her. }}

 _{{ Let us not waste time, then. These revised forms should be able to move faster, wouldn't you say? }}_

{{ Quite. }} And they took off again at a pace that would eat up almost fifteen leagues per hour.

. . .

 _Near Arendelle's eastern border …_

Marshmallow had been running/climbing/sliding for more than two hours, over some of the roughest terrain in Scandinavia. He'd covered nearly a dozen leagues, and was not that far from his goal, when a wave of magic washed over him. He froze.

 _What is this? What has happened?_ Being a creature powered by magic, he certainly knew what it felt like. But this was not like the loving, careful magic Elsa had used. This was … harsh. Strident. Uncomfortable.

The wave passed, and though he staggered, he didn't fall.

Then a second beam of force hit him, and he _did_ drop to his hands and knees.

The sensation was not dissimilar to how it felt when Elsa had augmented his form last year. There was no pain (he couldn't truly _feel_ pain) or even discomfort. But it left him with a constant sort of tingling along his limbs he couldn't ignore. He shook his arms, then his legs; felt for the restless energy singing in his body; held a hand up in front of the blank depressions that served him for eyes.

Under his focused stare, his hand … changed.

 _This_ , he thought, _is new._ He concentrated on its shape, brought up an image in his mind. The hand conformed almost instantly. He tested the ability for a bit, changing the size, the number of fingers, the opacity. _Intriguing. This ability may prove useful at some point._

Reorienting himself, Marshmallow resumed his trek (at a somewhat faster pace, given his newly-lengthened legs).

. . .

 _Arendelle, Valley of the Living Rock ..._

Trolls are typically a solitary folk. They are friendly enough under the right circumstances (such as with long-time acquaintances, or family) but usually like to stay hidden. To that end, they had erected a barrier. Surrounding and covering the Valley itself was an invisible dome of compulsion. Anyone happening across the Valley by accident would, without conscious thought, decide to go around it rather than through it. If asked later why he had done so, the traveler would claim to have not trusted the valley floor, or felt uncomfortable walking among the volcanic vents, or some such story. Unless you knew beforehand they were there, you simply weren't going to meet a Troll.

So, when the invisible wall suddenly rang like the world's biggest bell, shuddered in its place, and fell apart with a faint tinkling, the families living there were understandably frightened.

Grandpabbie came rolling out of his cave and stood in the center of the village, staring around for a moment. He flexed his hand. Stared at it. Flexed it again. "Strange magic; wild," He said, his voice small. "Powerful magic. Too powerful." Looking at his huddled tribe, he said, "I will re-establish the dome as soon as I can. But for now, please stay in your caves. I don't know what caused this, but I will consult the earth and find out." And he added to himself, _I hope_.

. . .

 _Arendelle, the North Reach …_

The gene that determined a facility with witchcraft, as Carlos had once noted, tended to be hereditary. It also tended primarily to be sex-linked, which is why there were so _**many**_ more women who studied the Craft than there were men. Here, in the isolated borderlands, among a range of inhospitable mountains Arendelle shared with Bergen, it was simply accepted that every little clutch of huts would have a Wise Woman or two. Or three.

Orla Magdasdottir wasn't practicing her art at present, at least not her magical one. She and three neighbors were perched around her stoop, weaving lengths of a local vine into baskets. The plant was tough and pliable, and could carry considerable weight when properly handled. She'd just reached for another withe when she got an odd look on her face. Her breathing picked up.

"Orla? You feeling all right?"

"I'm … I …" She began panting, looking around wildly. "Something … something's coming."

That alarmed her friends. They stood and helped her up. "What?" asked one of them. "What's coming?"

Orla swayed, clutched at their arms. "Something … wicked …"

They caught her as she fell.

. . .

 _Corona, Royal Palace …_

A tall door opened in a rush, followed by Rapunzel sticking her head in for a quick look around. Spotting her husband and her father hunched over a chess board, she bounced in and skipped over. "Hey, you two!"

"Hi, Blondie!" "Hello, Dear."

"You know what's for dinner?"

"Ah … I believe," answered the King, "the chef mentioned something about venison."

"Yum! Okay, that'll work."

"Work with what?" Eugene noticed that gleam in her eye that usually meant something was about to go off the rails.

"I'm gonna bake a pie, and we got that big round of sharp Irish cheddar a couple days ago, so I wanted apple because who doesn't like apple pie and cheese, right? And I wanted to be sure it would go with the main course, so if we were having fish I'd have to come up wi-" Her eyes flashed with a sudden burst of light and then fluttered closed. She swayed, sighed, and collapsed in a heap.

" _ **Rapunzel!"**_ yelled Eugene as he rushed to her side.

. . .

 _Tír na hÓige …_

Oberon felt that Kings shouldn't have any excuse to be bored, so he didn't like to _think_ of himself as bored. Some of the time (not often) he wasn't. Some of the time, things happened to entertain him. That incident nearly a year ago, for example, when Morana had come out of her seclusion to toy with one of her descendants, had been diverting. For a time. But mostly … yeah. He was bored. It was an occupational hazard when one was the eldest and most powerful of the Fey. Adjudicating the minor squabbles that floated around the Seelie Court didn't help matters, either. Several thousand years ago, he had finally had enough, and had instituted a point system by which he could determine whether or not he needed to get involved. The courtiers found ways around it. Every time he tweaked it, they came up with new methods to circumvent the letter of the law.

At present, three of the minor Court nobles were arrayed in front of his throne, each haranguing the other two over a debt. Not that any of them used money; this debt had to do with favors owed, and who had access to which of the mortal realms. Tweaking the mortals was their main (read: only) real form of entertainment, so the more latitude they had for gathering 'participants' (read: prank victims) the better they liked it. Oberon had been listening to their arguments for the last day and a half, and was thoroughly, heartily, finally _sick_ of it. He'd just about made up his mind to lock the three of them away in a prison crystal for a century or two (let them squabble in peace … at least it would be peaceful for the rest of the Court) when the wave hit.

The very foundations of the Fae Realm creaked and moaned, and the walls shook, shivered, and cracked.

Oberon found himself no longer bored. It was a harrowing few minutes before he was satisfied that none of his Court was injured (and even more critically, none of them was responsible) and he had a chance to work on what, exactly, had _caused_ the rupture.

Litania moved up to hover beside him. Laid a worried hand on his arm. "You don't think … Hecate?"

He shook his head. "In the first place, it doesn't feel like her power. In the second, she doesn't _have_ that kind of power. I'm not sure I do."

"… You're frightening me, Father."

"No less than my intention. Tír na hÓige has never seen an attack like this before." He caught and held her gaze for a moment. "Ever."

Shuddering at his intensity, she turned to stare toward the borders of the Bright Realm. "We must find the source, then."

"Aye. We must."

. . .

 _Deep in the Pyrenees Mountains …_

Jean Antoine Maximus Pelss bent low over the huge caldron he was stirring, muttering a string of syllables in a language that was long dead before humans discovered fire. He didn't know what the strange words said. He didn't have to. The **voice** had given them to him. The **voice** led him now in all things. The **voice** would aid him in his quest to rid the land of his damnable cousin, thus freeing up a spot in the Andorran court from which to launch his bid to rule (first) that tiny principality, then France, and eventually all of Europa. From the **voice** , he learned things. Secret things to hide and study. Dark things that sent shivers of forbidden pleasure down his spine. When this potion was ready, he would sneak into the Casa de la Vall and get a small quantity of it into the drinks of several key figures. They would then become his puppets, and one of them, one of the expendable ones, would slide a knife between his cousin's ribs.

This pleased the **voice** greatly. Not that the demon in question would tell his thrall this, but it was the political turmoil and opportunity for mayhem and a high body count that had him sharpening his metaphorical claws. He didn't care even a tiny bit whether this up-and-coming sorcerer ever made it into a position of power. He only wanted the chaos.

Pelss was counting down the stirs: widdershins, keep the surface smooth, don't scrape the sides, and don't lift the paddle out until finished. He had twenty-eight more to go when the pain hit.

The paddle dropped into the cauldron with a splash, ruining the potion.

Jean Pelss dropped to the floor in a seizure.

The demon took notice, then immediately felt the influx of dark power, and it puzzled the being. Where was it coming from? Why was there so much of it? How …

Jean sent a cry of agony echoing through the hut. The skin of his face grew taut under the pressure. He shrieked again, and he didn't stop. Not many seconds passed before his frantic flailing turned into beating his face on the rock. After not many more … his head ruptured messily.

Two figures took shape in the astral plane nearby. One was confused. The other was furious.

The shade of Jean Antoine Maximus Pelss asked, stupidly, "What happened?"

 _ ***You robbed me of my war, that's what happened!***_

Jean knew that **voice**. It had never been raised at him in anger, though, and now it would have made his skin crawl, if he'd had skin. He spun slowly in place, saw the form of the Other … and the magnitude of the mistake he now realized he'd made by entering into a contract with this being slammed home. He wanted to scream, but his fear wouldn't let him.

The demon grabbed him in an impossibly huge hand and lifted him until they were eye-to-eye. _***What did you do? Where did you get all that power? How did you screw up and kill yourself? Tell me!***_

Of course, Jean didn't have even the filmiest of ideas why he had just died, and made that fact apparent through his gibbering.

His master stared at him (through him) for a time, then gave the demonic equivalent of a sigh. _***I suppose I will have to make do with tormenting you for now.***_

The two figures faded out.

Across Europa, the other eight living sorcerers had similar experiences. Hell that night was a bit more raucous than usual.

. . .

 _Western Russia, near_ _Наваполацк_ _…_

The thing about stereotypes is that without at least _some_ basis in fact, they wouldn't exist. The same goes for myths, to an extent.

See, there are witches, and then there are WITCHES. A witch can dowse water for you, or make sure your best milk cow doesn't go dry, or give you a reasonably accurate prediction of the weather, or diagnose and treat most minor illnesses. Some of them might be able to brew up potions of greater or lesser effectiveness … and some of them, it must be said, were in it for the money. They are, after all, simply people, and people come in all varieties. But witches, unless they want to, don't stand out as particularly unusual in a given population.

WITCHES, on the other hand … well, frankly, they're pretty damn rare: humans with no known connection to the Fey (or the Underworld), but who nevertheless can manipulate the forces of natural magic with ease and skill. These women (and, yes, they're all women) tend to make a name for themselves; sometimes for all the wrong reasons.

Baba Yaga is probably the best example. It was never her intent, when younger, to grow into a twisted, selfish, mean old woman. She had a power, and wanted to use it to help her village. But it had been many generations since anyone in that area had been born with an affinity for magic, and the folk there were deeply superstitious. After being disowned by her family, run out of her village, and forced to live in seclusion, she eventually found that she didn't _care_ what happened to them. After that, she concentrated on improving her knowledge of magic and increasing her power.

And increase it, she did. Her association with the energy flowing through the rivers and stones and wind and sunlight served to extend her life tremendously. Yes, she aged (and, _**boy**_ , did she look it!) but stayed strong and vigorous and keen of mind at somewhat past a hundred and fifty years old. Many times, she was forced to move out of an area to maintain her privacy, and more than once was obliged to kill in self-defense. This did nothing to ameliorate her reputation as an evil hag, but it did, at least, finally convince people to leave her the _Hell_ alone.

She had solved the 'need to move' issue over a century ago by giving her house legs. That way, she never had to pack anything. She simply set the hut to walking until they were far enough removed from the latest irritation to settle again. Occasionally (read: three or four times) she would have an encounter with a stranger that ended up well for both of them. Usually, though, she would run visitors off, or hex them and then run them off.

Today, she'd not had any interlopers in quite a while, and that suited her fine. There was a spell combination she'd been working on for weeks that would let her cause a fruit tree to bear in the middle of winter (she _really_ liked pears), so she was deep into practical research when a ripple in the very fabric of magic came through her wood. As sensitive as she was to that sort of thing, it immediately drew her attention; she stood, sniffed, gazed intently off to the west.

Then the core of the blast front arrived.

She wasn't bowled over, but she did have to brace herself against the onslaught. For a few seconds that felt like months, she fought to protect her magical center from the taint she felt in this attack. Then it was past. In the utter silence following the passage of the phenomenon, she stood rigidly, waiting for what else might come. Then she heard a crackling, and a popping, and a rending. Whirling around, she watched in dumbfounded amazement as her hut sank to the ground. The legs turned black, shriveled, and whiffed to dust. The clapboard took on a desperately rotted appearance, showing how the boards would have looked had her magic not been keeping them fresh and sound. With a final drawn-out groan, the walls collapsed, the roof caving in and flattening the hut's contents.

After a few heartbeats, Baba Yaga closed her mouth with a soft click; blinked a few times; consciously relaxed her fingers from the fists she'd made; took a long, long breath and let it slowly out her nose. Looking at the wreckage of her home of the last hundred-plus years, she fought down her spite and concentrated on what she needed to do next. Getting a roof between her and the weather was priority one. Revenge could wait. And, she promised herself, whoever was responsible for this – assuming he hadn't died from the effects of this spell, whatever it was – would pay. Oh, how he would pay.

. . .

 _Northeast of Muscova …_

Cries and gasps and moans of intense ecstasy had been ringing around Morana's enchanted castle for weeks, as she and Jarilo made up for more than a millennium of lost time. They didn't need to eat, so they didn't bother. He found himself captivated by his wife's new level of commitment, and it flipped his libido into overdrive. She found that paying attention to his emotional responses brought gratification she'd not dreamed possible. And time passed.

Her lands were quite a bit farther away from Arendelle than was Tír na hÓige, and the blast front of wild magic had attenuated somewhat by the time it reached her. Still, it shook the towers and reverberated around in the halls like a basso profundo banshee.

They stopped; pulled apart; glanced around nervously, panting just a little.

Jarilo asked, "What was that?"

Morana shook her head. Carefully, she reached out with her power and felt along the walls and seams and foundations, frowning as she discovered more than one spot that needed repairs. Once that was done, she flopped back on the bed. "That came from a long way off, whatever it was."

"Do you think we should check on the Bright Courts?"

It only took a few seconds for her to think it over. "Nah. If it's that important, they'll contact me." A knowing grin bloomed on her perfect lips as she stretched languidly. "Besides, don't you think we have more important things to attend to?"

"YES!"

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Southeastern Arendelle, 5:15pm_

It was the pressure that finally woke Carlos.

He groaned, tried to lift his head; failing that, he tried rolling over. His skin felt … tight. Stretched. Also, he was hot. When that filtered through his addled senses, his eyes flew open in surprise and confusion. _Hot? Seriously? How?_ With an effort, he lifted a hand up to examine it. It did, indeed, feel unusually warm. And it was glowing with a brilliance that made him close his eyes again.

 _Must have been lying in a ley line_ , he thought, muzzily. _Terrific._ \

He rested, trying to summon up the strength to sit …

Then he was puzzled by the fact that he was lying on the ground in the first place …

Then it occurred to him to wonder where he was …

Then the events of the recent past crashed in on him, and he was on his feet a second later, wildly looking around. The sight was not encouraging.

The forest, for perhaps four or five hundred paces in all directions, had been leveled. More than leveled, really, as the trees seemed to have been pulled from the earth like so many weeds, and piled haphazardly in a colossal ring. The ground left behind was scorched black. There was no sign of the kidnappers or the horses or anything else remotely alive. He cast about for Elsa's mind, coming up empty.

 _But … she has to be here! She_ _ **has**_ _to! I'm here, I'm not dead, so …_

There. That small, ragged, dirty bundle, fifteen paces farther on, had been camouflaged by the ash. He ran to where Elsa lay and took her in his arms. Instantly he felt her heart beating. It was strong, and slow, as it usually felt when they awoke of a morning, and he offered a fervent prayer of thanks for her life. Now he had to get her back to the castle, so she could heal properly. With a thought, he cast them aloft, leaving a contrail in his wake.

He didn't realize how high he was, or that he had unconsciously created a wind-barrier in front of them, or that he was dangerously close to breaking the sound barrier. He knew which way the castle lay, where there was a comfortable bed where she could lie while he healed her. He wouldn't try to wake her yet. She had been through too much. Let her rest.

He came in at such high speed that no one in the City saw him, though a few did catch a faint streak of light from the corner of the eye, and wonder briefly what it could have been. Landing in the rear garden not far from their rooms, he raced inside, yelling for help.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _End Note:_**

 ** _Most of you are probably familiar with the Butterfly Effect. You might think of what happened here as the Mother-of-All-Bombs Effect._**

 ** _As always, I would love to hear your take on the events of the story thus far._**

 ** _Happy Reading!_**

 ** _Con_**


	26. Results Not Guaranteed

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Mundane Life continues to suck up my time. I know this isn't as long a piece as I normally post, but I didn't want to leave you hanging. Much.**_

 _ **I'd like once more to thank all of you who have taken the time to send me your thoughts. A few of these conversations have made adjustments in the path of the story, and I deeply appreciate any input that can improve the outcome.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Five: Results Not Guaranteed**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Queen's Hostel North, Arendelle, Saturday 28 May 1842, 4:45pm_

Martin Pfyffer von Altishofen, Commandant of the Swiss Guard, came into the common room central to their group of rooms and waited until the conversation died down. "Gentlemen. Now that we have arrangements, I'll be taking our letter of introduction up to the palace. Ivar, Teodor, I'd like for you to come with me."

"Yes, sir."

He clasped his hands at the small of his back and started slowly to pace. "I was given to understand that the Queen is, um, currently on a mission of mercy. But she should return in an hour or two, so we may have to wait for a bit once we get there."

Ivar, frowning slightly, asked, "What sort of mission of mercy would a _Queen_ have?"

"Ah … as to that …" Martin searched for the right words. "The Harbormaster was eager to explain that to me. Apparently, Queen Elsa has a gift of divine healing."

That made them sit up. Some looked at each other. Jan, near the front, asked, "Healing? To what extent?"

"She, ah, has apparently prevented the deaths of some two dozen of her subjects."

"I thought she was Protestant."

"And so she is."

More blank stares. "How?"

"When I asked, he shrugged and grinned at me, and said, 'Magic.' He was quite blasé about it. Unsettlingly so. The people of Arendelle … they, um, simply _accept_ that their Queen is a highly magical being." He shook his head with a small smile. "His Holiness had told me … well. Many things. I was not prepared for the … um, utter _lack_ of anything approaching approbation here. Her people appear to love her most intensely. Two others I spoke with had similar tales. One had been present when she healed the Prince Consort."

"Her husband?"

"No, the Princess's husband. Commoner, as the story goes, though I'm not privy to details."

"Did he get sick?"

"No. He'd been run through with a sword during their wedding celebration."

" _What?!"_

"Assassins, as he told it; there was a sorcerer trying to kill the Queen, and it was part of his plan."

"A sorcerer?" responded one of the men in a low voice. "Is he still around?"

"No. Queen Elsa and her husband fought the sorcerer and killed him."

"How could _healing_ magic combat-"

"She's a woman of many talents. I plan to get the rest of the story soon. In any case, the Queen, ah, removed all traces of the wound, and according to the shopkeeper I spoke with, he is perfectly fit today."

A solemn blanket of silence settled gently over the group as they digested that. Finally, Teodor observed, "The Arendelle Royal family are Protestants."

"True. They follow the Lutheran tradition."

"But she works miracles."

"Teodor, to answer that question you carefully didn't ask, no, I can't explain it. In any case, His Holiness would like to see if she could be brought into the faith. She did, after all, marry a Catholic."

One of the men scoffed, "I've heard about him. Spanish expatriate. He might be Catholic by birth, but he's not in the Church."

"None of which matters to our primary mission. We are charged with offering her our aid and protection as a show of goodwill from His Holiness. This we will do. Pope Gregory is convinced of her sincerity and faith, and that's good enough for me."

That brought on a chorus of, "Aye." "He would know." "True." "Wouldn't be here otherwise." And several similar sentiments.

Martin brandished the packet containing the letter of introduction. "To which end we should get moving." Motioning to his chosen companions, he stepped out the door.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Countess Liesel's estate, the southern point of Arendelle, 5:05pm_

Captain Mayer, upon their arrival, had taken the liberty of sending spies into Arendelle City. Each carried a brace of homing pigeons which had been supplying the mercenary leader with regular intelligence about movements in and around the castle for the last full day. The keeper had just received another such message, and brought it to Mayer where he and the Countess lounged in her garden.

Liesel waited (a bit impatiently, truth be told) while he read the short letter. "Well?"

He looked up at her with a lopsided smile. "The Queen has left the castle atop one of her ice creatures. According to this, we might be able to intercept her far from her main forces."

"Is that what you intend to do? Is it a good idea?"

"It is certainly worth a try. We may not get a better chance for some time."

She nibbled at her lip while thinking it over, then laid a hand on his arm. "Please be careful. She's dangerous."

"So are we."

"My Captain … Felix … overconfidence has brought ruin to many down through the years. I have a generous list of reasons why I don't want that to happen to you."

"And my list is at least as long. Please don't worry. This isn't the first time my company has undertaken such an effort. We know what we are doing."

"So, you've fought a sorceress before? Really?"

"No. We haven't. But we have the artifact. She won't be able to use her foul magic in its presence. This will give us the advantage, and my Rifles are excellent marksmen."

"… As you say. Still, something about this doesn't feel quite right. Please, please be careful."

He rose to stand before her, took her hand, and kissed it. "I shall be the soul of discretion."

"I'm holding you to that."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The shack where Elsa was attacked,_ _6:20pm_

Sentinels had been arriving by ones and twos and more for most of an hour. Not knowing what else to do, they paced around the area, trying to figure out what had happened, and discussing the possibilities and consequences. All of them had, by this time, realized they'd somehow received a magical boost in size and intelligence, and many were trying to work out why. They all agreed there were a lot of puzzle pieces missing.

When Marshmallow got there, they gathered around him and began Sending questions. He held up both hands until they stilled. _**{{ My brothers, something bad happened to Our Lady. Something that severed Her connection with us.}}**_

{{This, we know. But what may be done about it? And where is She?}}

 _ **{{It is hidden from my eyes. But a time later, She sent us more magic, so we may hope that She has overcome at least some aspect of that which attacked Her.}}**_

{{What should we do?}}

 _ **{{I think there is little we can do to aid Her at this time. I will go to the City and search out those who love Her as we do. They may know what help we can give. Until then, you should return to the duty for which She made you, that of protecting Her beloved land.}}**_

{{It is good, what you say. But how will you approach the City? Will they not fear you? Your appearance is fell, indeed.}}

 _ **{{I may do this thing because Our Lady gave me a gift.}}**_ He quickly shrank to roughly man-height, molding his features then into a semblance of Kristoff's face. _**{{You, She made even more ably fierce, as shown by your thoughts and your forms. To me, She offered a way to be with Her when needed, even among the other humans.}}**_

A susurration of agreement swept over the Sentinels. {{Your words are good. We will do this. It will honor Our Lady.}}

 _ **{{Be strong, brothers. I will speak what I learn, as soon as I may.}}**_ In seconds, he regained his former bulk, elongating his legs greatly, and set off for Arendelle's capitol at a sprint.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle gardens, 6_ _:40pm_

"You know, I thought I just might find you out here."

Sofia whirled instantly, giving a little jump at the sudden intrusion. She'd been pacing around among the roses for the past twenty minutes, alternately supplicating and berating God for allowing such a thing to happen to a creature as sweet and kind and noble as Elsa. Peering intently at the man, she said, "Mr. Eberhard? What are you doing here?"

"I heard what happened to the Queen. I knew how close you two are. I felt you might appreciate a steadying hand."

"Indeed, that would be welcome. But, thank you, I already have someone to offer me such comfort."

"You mean Knutsen?"

"That would be _Councilor_ Knutsen. I wouldn't think you'd need reminding again."

Eric waved off her objection. "A momentary aberration on the Queen's part, I assure you. She will realize her mistake before long, and appoint someone more appropriate to the position."

"Oh, really."

"You may rely on it." He took a step in her direction. Another. "To your point, though, I don't see Knut- … ah, the _Councilor_ around anywhere. Why would he not be here in your hour of need?"

She narrowed her eyes in a moment of furious thought. She'd been studying Court intrigues for a decade and a half, and wasn't about to be taken in by such a ruse. "… Why, indeed? And what might you know of it, Mr. Eberhard?"

"I? I am quite sure I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do. How did you know Dankert would not be here with me? He moved into his rooms in the castle ten days ago. We see each other quite frequently, as is only to be expected since we are _betrothed_."

"The man is besotted with his mathematics, and with precious little else, as you will discover to your sorrow." He moved closer. "You need to see him for what he is, not what you wish him to be."

Cocking her head slightly, she adjusted her stance and stared him down. "What did you do with him?"

"Do with him?" He couldn't quite suppress a smirk. "Why, not a thing. Why would I trouble myself? You'll realize your mistake soon enough, and then we can-" His sentence died abruptly when the tip of Sofia's sword appeared in front of his nose.

"I asked you a question."

"You can't … how dare … I'm the son of a Baron!"

"You will soon be the _earless_ son of a Baron if you don't answer me!"

He jerked backwards and turned to run, calling, "Guards! Guards! Help!"

Sofia, however, was in better shape. She ran him down and knocked a leg out from under him, sending him to the ground in a heap, where a large rock cost him two teeth. He scrambled around to try to sit up, crabbing away from her sword, but the keen point came to rest against his throat. At that point, two of the Guard came running up. One of them, a Sergeant who had sparred with Sofia several times, said, "Countess? What's wrong? What did he do?"

"I believe he kidnapped …" she swallowed hard, savagely suppressing the voice in her mind that whispered, _'or killed',_ "Councilor Knutsen. He had information and intentions that make me nearly certain of it."

The Guards turned hard eyes on Eberhard. Practically everyone in the Queen's service knew the man, knew his reputation. They had no trouble believing Sofia's accusation. Grabbing him by his arms, they hauled him to his feet, relieving him of a dagger. "The Captain will have a word with you now, I think. You can come with us quietly, or we can drag you there unconscious. Your choice."

A fuming Sofia followed as they escorted a very subdued minor peer to his interview. She didn't sheathe her sword.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _The Hidden Pass into Arendelle,_ _7:00pm_

Field Marshall Lars Bladberg found himself impressed with the discipline and efforts of his troops. The five thousand men had filed into the high, narrow valley at triple-time, and were nearly finished setting up the camp. After sending his officers away to their various duties, he tied his tent-flaps closed and pulled out the leather satchel with the King's secret orders.

Five minutes later, he was smiling broadly and chuckling in glee. His faith in his King was restored. It was all a feint! A ruse to show … well, that part stifled his enjoyment of the situation. The Princess had been kidnapped. Under normal circumstances it would be a simple matter of ransoming her, but these were not normal circumstances. Someone – someone with power and a lot of money – had a vendetta against Queen Elsa, and decided to prosecute it via the army of the Kingdom of Sweden and Norway. Still, King Charles was hopeful that Eugénie would be rescued and returned to them before many more days passed. All the 'invasion force' had to do was cool their heels (literally) for a week or two while the details got cleaned up, and they could all go home without any bloodshed. It was an intense relief. He held his men in high regard, and jealously guarded their lives at every opportunity.

He was in such an improved mood at supper that his senior officers remarked upon it. He would say nothing except that all would be revealed in the morning when he addressed the troops. And he couldn't repress the occasional chuckle.

Later, as everyone was preparing for bed, Colonel Aronsson stopped by Bladberg's tent. "Field Marshall?"

Bladberg threw the tent flap open. "Aronsson. Is anything wrong?"

"Not at all. I was only hoping for a bit of advance notice on your address tomorrow."

The Field Marshall contemplated him narrowly for a moment, then shook his head. "I have my orders from the King. Some of his plans, I will explain to everyone in the morning. But the men must rest tomorrow. We have traveled a long way, a hard way. They will appreciate a bit of better news after breakfast."

"Ah. I, ah, I see. Well, you know best."

Bladberg let slip the slightest of smirks. "Thank you. The King would seem to agree."

The Colonel pulled out a small flask. "I was hoping we could celebrate whatever had boosted your spirits to such an extent. Perhaps instead, a quick toast to our success?"

The other man raised a brow and licked his lips. "Would that be from your private stock?" Aronsson was widely noted for his refined taste in liquor.

"Indeed. I know it's not strictly regulation, but we are, after all, heading to bed soon. I couldn't see the harm."

"Truly." He frowned. "I didn't bring any glasses."

"Expecting that, I did." He produced a pair of tiny tumblers of blue glass.

Chuckling, Bladberg invited him in the rest of the way. "Who could say no? What have you there? Akvavit?"

"Not this time. I felt something a bit more auspicious would serve better." Holding up the flask, he explained. "This is an Islay single-malt scotch from Laphroaig. It rested in its keg for eighteen years before being decanted, and a smoother drink I think I have never tasted."

"Perfect. By all means, pour away."

Aronsson, facing away from his superior officer, set the glasses down on the tiny table near the cot, and carefully poured thirty milliliters of the golden liquid into each. Then he turned and casually presented Bladberg with the one in his right hand. "The King's health."

"The King's health."

They both spent a couple of breaths admiring the nose of the rare spirit before taking a small sip, letting it trickle down the throat, then tossing off the rest.

Bladberg's eyes slid shut. "Oh, my."

"Yes. Amazing, is it not?"

They stood in silence for a moment before the Field Marshall clapped the other man on the shoulder. "Aronsson, thank you. I promise you won't be sorry, once I pass on our orders in the morning."

"I trust you there, sir." _No,_ he thought, _I won't be sorry at all. Not at all._ He left the tent with a tight smile on his face.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Arendelle Castle,_ _7:20pm_

The half hour after arriving at the castle was something of a blur when Carlos tried later to recall it. There were maids and doctors, Anna and Kristoff and Sofia, Councilors and Guards, and at some point, early on, Juan had managed to get a shirt and some trousers on him. Carlos hovered while they did their work, but as soon as they had a good idea of her state of health, and had realigned the break in her nose, he shooed them aside and covered her in his healing aura.

He knew this might take some time; he tried to prepare himself mentally. He knew she was vastly more adept than he at healing someone else's injuries, and he was counting on her waking at some point to take over. He wove a soft blanket of comfort, eased her pain as much as he could, and sat vigil. Now and again, he would Send to her, but two hours in, he had no response.

Anna had stayed, curled up against her other side, holding one hand and lightly rubbing her thumb across Elsa's knuckles. Then Carlos had an idea. "Anna? If you're willing to help, I'd like to try something. I don't know if it will be dangerous, but if-"

"Anything! Carlos, you know I'd do _anything_ for her!"

The Spaniard eyed the small crowd milling quietly around, and motioned for Kristoff. When the blond came over, Carlos said, "I need you to clear the rest of the room."

"Um … okay. Why?"

"State secrets."

Kristoff frowned briefly; his eyes went wide; he glanced from Anna to Elsa, and nodded. "Okay, everyone, listen up. You all need to step out for a bit."

The physicians protested, but Kristoff was unmoved. "We're going to try something magical that needs both room and privacy. Out." And, grumbling, they did. He locked the door behind them and scooted back to the bed. "You think it'll work?"

"I have no idea. But at this point I'm willing to try anything."

"Me too," said Anna, her voice firm.

"All right … Anna, get as close up against her as you can."

The redhead threw an arm across her sister's waist and a leg across her thighs, nestling her head up under Elsa's chin. "Okay, now what?"

"Just hold on tight."

"Not a problem."

Carlos examined the healing aura, then entered the astral plane to look at it from that perspective. He noted how it worked with Elsa's natural spirit field, and how it reacted to Anna's, and began pushing and pulling and prodding and molding.

To Kristoff, it didn't look like anything was happening. He quickly grew restless. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Then Anna gave out a muffled grunt, and Elsa's form took on a soft, blue glow. "Is that it? Is it working?"

As he watched, the dark bruises on Elsa's face began to fade. The slight dip where her nose was broken disappeared. Kristoff held his breath. When Anna and Sofia had returned to the castle, the news about Elsa's blinding had stunned everyone. They all knew of her ability to heal wounds, though, and were quite hopeful that when the Prince Consort brought her back – and they had no doubt he would – she would be able to regain her sight … assuming she was still alive. He peered closely at her face …

Less than a minute passed before the sunken lids began filling out.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _8:10pm_

"Are you sure she doesn't just … I don't know, need to sleep it off?" asked Anna hopefully.

Carlos shook his head, his dark, burning eyes staring intently at his wife. "I can't reach her mind. There is no way that is normal in any way, shape, or form. Something is still wrong."

Doctor Odum and two of his assistants had fussed around Elsa for a while after Carlos finished the healing. None of them could give him a valid reason for her continued state of unconsciousness, and that bothered everyone concerned.

Reaching out a hand, Carlos gently brushed her bangs back. One of Doctor Odum's standard tests involved checking her eyes' reaction to light, and that result was disturbing. They were every bit as blue as Carlos remembered … but unresponsive. The pupils were small, no matter how much light was present, and they stared fixedly ahead, never even twitching. "This is beyond me. For once, I really wish Morana would show up. She at least might know what's wrong."

"Hmm." Anna caught Kristoff's eye. "Maybe we could ask someone else who knows a lot about magic?"

Slowly, he nodded. "He might know. He's had some experience with 'persuading a head', hasn't he?"

Glancing between them, Carlos asked irritably, "Are you planning on letting me in on the secret?"

"The trolls," Anna replied.

That pulled him up short. Naturally, he knew about them, knew they had helped the royal family of Arendelle a couple of times, but he'd never met them, and held all such Elemental beings in a wary state of distrust until they proved otherwise. "You really think that would be a good idea?"

Anna pursed her lips and gave him a defiant stare. "Do you have a better one?"

"… Truthfully …" He sagged a little. "No. I don't."

"Let's get her into the carriage."

"How about I just fly her there?"

"Do you know where it is?"

He shut his eyes. Rubbed them. Let his head thump back against the wall. "I'm not thinking clearly. My apologies." Facing the Princess, he said, "I can carry you both. You could direct me."

"Um, actually, Kristoff's the one who can find them. I know approximately what direction the Valley is, but not well enough to show you."

Kristoff added, "You probably couldn't see it from the air, anyway. It's magically hidden."

"… Then how do you …"

"I grew up there. The trolls are my family."

"Oh. Right. Yes, thank you, I knew that." He waved them off. "Apologies. Again."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Valley of the Living Rock, 11:35pm_

"Hmm. Volcanic vents," Carlos observed. "I wasn't aware this area had any active volcanoes."

"Likely it wouldn't, if the trolls weren't here." Kristoff motioned for them to stay put and stumped off to a smallish cave mouth. Calling softly, he was shortly joined by a short, round figure easily visible in the light of the waning gibbous moon. The two spoke quietly for a few moments before the troll walked up to where Carlos stood with Elsa in his arms. "Your Highness." His voice was a well-modulated baritone that seemed instantly to ease some of Carlos's fears.

"Sir. Kristoff said … well, Elsa was … injured. I've healed her as much as I can, but …" His breath caught. He took a few deep ones. "We have a … special connection. We can speak to each other's minds. But I can't get through to her and … and she won't wake up. I don't know what else to do."

Grandpabbie placed a rough, blunt-fingered hand on her head, but then jerked it back. He stared at her for two breaths. Took his staff and laid it across her chest. The fire crystals tied around its upper end glowed; two of them flashed. "Bring her. This will not be easy." He headed back to his cave.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 ** _Thanks for reading! Remember, Reviews = Love._**


	27. Confrontations

**Cross Purposes**

 _by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **First, allow me to apologize for the ridiculously long hiatus between posts. You deserve better. One result of the … mess … that is my current existence is that I have decided in the future to complete my stories before beginning to post them. I cannot account for the curve balls Life likes to throw at me, and it isn't fair to you to have to go back two or three chapters just to get caught up on what's going on.**_

 _ **Today is Saturday 27 October 2018. Nine years and five months ago, my father was diagnosed with kidney cancer. He had one removed, and the other reduced with radio ablation. It left him with 17% kidney function. At 15% one must either begin dialysis or get a transplant, and he stated for the record that neither of those would happen. So my mother got to work on his diet, and crafted the most kidney-friendly assortment of foods in history. She has managed to keep him going since then … until this year. He's been fully mobile and able to keep the place in good shape (they still live in the house where I grew up). Hell, until two years ago, he was still climbing ladders to do maintenance on the roof. And they are both still mentally sharp, which is the greatest relief and blessing for the whole family.**_

 _ **But tempus fugit, and there is no loitering. Dad's 86. If he makes it to Thanksgiving, he'll be 87. And he's very, very, very tired. He caught pneumonia last winter, and it hung on for months. Long story somewhat shorter than it might have been, he's in the final stages of kidney failure. He can no longer stand without aid; he's entered Hospice care. They've been great, and have done a better job of palliative care than the so-called Pain Specialist he had for the last few years. At least now, he can eat whatever he wants. (What's it gonna do, kill him?) A week ago, he had the first sweet potato he's tasted since 2009. My wife made him a big bowl of buckeye confections, and I made him a pot of the chili he so used to love. He still does.**_

 _ **I've been spending a lot of time over at my folks' place. It's a five or six hour drive, depending on which way we have to go, and I'll be there two or three days each time taking care of things Dad would have done himself. None of us is made of money, so they can't hire these things out. On top of that, my day job occupies upwards of 65 or 70 (or sometimes a lot more) hours per week. They are supposed to be hiring some help, but I don't have a timetable for that yet. I'm not holding my breath.**_

 _ **And that's been my 2018.**_

 _ **Anyway … those are the REASONS for my egregious delay, though they do not EXCUSE it. I will do my utmost to see that it doesn't happen again.**_

 _ **Now. Thank you for your patience. On with the show.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Six: Confrontations**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Valley of the Living Rock, Sunday 29 May 1842, 2:45am_

When Carlos had removed the Hand from direct contact with Elsa's skin, the demonic fragment that was tormenting her lost much of its force. It lost the last of its connection to the Nether World when the Hand was destroyed. Now only a dim reflection of a shade of its former self, it would have been child's play to resist its influence … normally.

Elsa, however, had spent the better part of two hours under its thrall. Her mindscape was a blighted slough of terror and despair and self-loathing. The shade took all her deepest fears, fashioned them into instruments of torture, and gleefully, repeatedly bludgeoned her nearly into insanity with them … then the Hand's destruction distracted the demon long enough to let her slip out of its grip. Now barely aware that she was a sentient being, her One Goal was to hide, to escape, to put as much distance between her and the shade as possible. To this end, she barricaded herself in the deepest reaches of her own soul. And with the breaking of the Hand and the release of its stored magic into her core, she now had a truly appalling level of power available to reinforce those walls.

Grandpabbie placed a hand against Carlos's back, steadying him for the tenth time. "Your Highness, you must rest."

"I have to punch through. I have to find her." The plaintive, desperate need in those simple words tore at Pabbie's heart. "I can't stop."

"You must. You are no good to her if you cannot focus." He led the exhausted man over to a low bench, making him sit. "She is safe for the moment. You are drained. You must rest."

"Need … to find a ley line."

"An excellent idea." He pointed at the small pillow on the bench. "Lie down."

"But …"

"Lie. Down."

Truthfully, Carlos was on the ragged edge of the limits of his endurance. For hours he had poured his might and soul and determination into his wife, trying to force his way through her barrier and gain contact. To no avail. His best efforts broke on the adamantine wall of her inner psyche like sea spray against a granite cliff. He looked down at the troll and gave a long sigh. The Elemental was blurring in and out of his vision. "Okay. But I'll need to find a ley line as soon as I've had a few hours' sleep."

"That won't be a problem." He shook his finger at the bench again. "Get horizontal."

As soon as his head hit the leather pad Pabbie used as a pillow, he felt the cool tingling indicating the flow of ley energy. Cocking an eyebrow, he observed, "You could have told me."

"You were in no mood to listen. Now sleep, and regain your strength. I will do what I may while you recuperate. I promise you Elsa will be safe."

Carlos's eyes slid shut. In seconds, he was out.

Pabbie shifted his gaze between the two Fey-touched, and heaved a sigh. _I told him this wouldn't be easy. But I think he may be willing to make the necessary sacrifices. Never have I seen such love._

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Daybreak_

When Captain Felix Mayer set his sights on a goal, he consigned to Hell anything that got in his way. That, he had determined, included a certain red-headed Princess. She was Elsa's logical successor, ergo, she had to be removed from the picture. If they could capture her easily and stash her somewhere a long way away from Arendelle, fine. If she put up a fight, well, having her listed among the collateral damage wouldn't rob him of a minute's sleep. He meant to see Countess Liesel on the throne of Arendelle, and woe betide anyone who tried to hinder him.

He and his company of mercenaries were even now setting out, moving as stealthily as any force of more than seven hundred men could. No uniforms evident, no weapons seen apart from those carried by a few outrider 'guards', and several wagons piled high with various goods would support their story of being a merchant clan. Eight of the Countess's household led the way, their heads having been filled with tales of the splendor and opulence that awaited them, once they held the capitol.

It would take them most of the day to get within easy striking distance, where they would set up a mock camp, and await the cover of night for their attack.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _6:30am_

Nearly an hour had passed since Marshall Bladberg had been found in his tent, unresponsive. Doctor Moss, the physician accompanying the expeditionary force, performed as many tests as he knew how, and could come up with no solid answers, but he suspected a stroke. (Bladberg was not a young man, and had led a rigorous life.) That and a frustrated shrug was all he could give the rest of the officers.

Once the doctor had left the big tent, Colonel Aronsson stood and strode purposefully to the front. "Well, gentlemen, this raises a question."

"Indeed," said one of the Majors. "The expedition has no leader now."

Shaking his head, Aronsson disagreed. "That is not what I meant. Chain of command puts me in that position. No, I meant, what will we do with the Marshall?"

"… _Do_ with him?" responded the Captain of the cavalry.

"Yes. I recommend an honor guard to escort him back to Stockholm."

There ensued a bit of muttering. One said, "We should wait a bit, see if he comes around. Seems a bit soon to be-"

"We haven't _time_ to wait. The King's orders must be obeyed, and we must strike while we have the advantage, before any in Arendelle discover we are here."

Another asked, "Can we spare the men?"

"I'm not talking about a cohort," scoffed Aronsson. "A dozen men should be sufficient."

Another minute or so of discussion settled the number at an even score. Each of the five cohort Captains volunteered four men, who were chosen by lot. Those twenty men, when they were told what their task would be, very carefully hid just how relieved they were. Not one soldier in the force was looking forward to engaging the sorts of defenses the Snow Queen could send against them. The honor guard was soon on its way, Marshall Bladberg occupying the lone wagon in the group.

The Colonel wasted no time. "All right. Major Nilsson, Major Lindholm, if you would assemble the men?"

Twenty minutes later, Aronsson stood on a small rocky outcrop, looking over the soldiers under his charge. "Men, today we embark on a noble task: that of bringing a stubborn hold-out to heel. Today, we march on the city of Arendelle. Tomorrow, the flag of Sweden will fly from their walls."

Many quiet mutters floated over the ranks. To a man, the infantry had held out the hope that this wasn't a real invasion, that it was, instead, merely an exercise; possibly even a joint-venture with Arendelle's military. That their commanding officer now confirmed their worst fears – and seemed himself quite fearless of the prospect – made them wonder at his sanity. Did he not know of the Snow Queen? A few of the men in this body had relatives who had been present in Arendelle for her coronation, and knew with quiet certainty that they stood no chance of accomplishing his goal. Many more had heard tales of the icy creatures she'd crafted to guard the kingdom. Even if vastly overblown, these stories were enough to make the strongest of them shudder.

The officers were of a similar mindset, though possibly a bit more fatalistic about it. They'd thought – ardently hoped – the Marshall was going to tell them it was all a ruse, that the King hadn't, in fact, lost his mind, and that this 'attack' would serve some other purpose. If Aronsson was determined to carry it out as originally stated …

The Colonel spouted bombastically for another ten minutes, then gave the command to advance. "Westward, men! Westward to victory and glory!"

 _Westward to a grisly death_ , was the thought running through more than one mind as the tired men broke camp. Aronsson sent out half a dozen scouts on fast horses in advance of the main body. He wanted to get to the capitol city in good order. Knowing his troops hadn't gotten the rest the Marshall promised them (he did understand that much at least) they needed to find some sort of road soon. Hacking through the upland scrub was exhausting work.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _8:55am_

Five thousand men with a thousand horses and fifty wagons leave quite a swath behind them, once they get off the well-traveled roads. King Charles's courier had had no difficulty following them, and was especially glad of the well-broken trail once he got up into the mountains. He'd learned in passing through that last hamlet there would be no way to swap mounts until he was well into Arendelle, and he had to save his horse's strength, so it was at a conservative trot that he crested the next hill in his path. The small cavalcade headed his way surprised him, and he pulled up short.

The man in the lead spurred forward and they were soon face to face. "You wear the King's livery. Who are you?"

"Josef Sundberg, Courier to the King. Are you from the invasion force?"

"We are. I'm Corporal Vlad Irrensson. Marshall Bladberg was stricken last night. We are escorting him back to Stockholm."

"Stricken! Is he dead?"

"No. The doctor thinks it may be a stroke. There is no mark on him."

"Hmm. That's suspicious. Could he have been poisoned?"

The rest of the group had come up by then, and glanced among themselves. That precise topic had occupied them for the last hour. The Corporal offered, "We have no proof one way or the other. But you're right. It smells bad to me."

"Who's leading the force now?"

"Colonel Aronsson."

"Aronsson. I've heard of him. Something of a hawk, isn't he?"

"You needn't tell us. He went ahead with the invasion this morning, even though the Marshall had promised us a day of rest once we got to Arendelle."

"So, the troops are over the border?"

"They are. He's pressing on to the City. Wants to take it today, though I don't see how that's possible. I'm no expert on local geography, but it's got to be close to fifteen leagues, and no army could move that fast, 'specially with how rough the terrain is. Hell, if it were nothing but the _cavalry_ , they wouldn't move that fast. A tired horse makes a poor destrier."

"True." Erik pondered that for a moment. "Does the Colonel seem to be in possession of all his faculties?"

Wry chuckles met that question. "After listening to his speech this morning, I have my doubts."

"Well. All the more reason for me to get the King's orders to him as soon as ever I may." He offered a quick salute and trotted away west.

"Huh. So, the King has other orders for us? That's good news."

"Yeah. Maybe no one will have to die today."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _10:20am_

The seven hundred mercenaries under Captain Mayer trundled along at a slightly-more-than-gentle pace, and had made it about a third of the way to Arendelle City when they hit their first snag.

Four of the Countess's men led the way while the other four were scattered back along the sides of the company. So, the four in front were the first to spot the Sentinel when it stepped out of the forest and faced them. They stopped abruptly, bringing the rest of the group to a halt.

They'd all heard of the Sentinels. Two of them had seen one, from a distance. But this? This gave them all seriously to pause. To start with, it was nearly three _times_ the size of the ones they were familiar with. The head was proportionately larger, the fangs longer and keener, the six legs stouter, and it sported a line of jagged blades down each side, and what might have been a wide spear head at the end of its long, long tail. The man in front, Lars by name, swallowed hard and lifted his arm to show the Lens behind his wrist.

In an attempt to look legitimate, twenty of the men were mounted, and riding outboard of each side of the column; these clenched their rifles a bit harder. Some of the other mercenaries readied various weapons under their traveling cloaks. Inside one of the covered wagons, two men quietly went about the business of loading a small cannon.

The creature studied them for a few seconds, then padded forward until it loomed over Lars, who hoped desperately that his bowels weren't about to let go.

Then it spoke.

In his head.

 **{{ You have quite a large company with you. Where are you going? }}**

In his head.

Words.

It spoke.

Concepts.

In his head.

Things.

In his head.

 **{{ Well? Can you speak? }}**

Lars was dimly aware that he should be answering, but his brain hadn't caught up with the shock. He swallowed. Again. "Ah … we're … we're a trading firm. We … we have goods … to trade … in Arendelle. Goods. Yes."

 **{{ I see. And what is the nature of these 'goods'? }}**

"Ah … we've got a … a manifest." Captain Mayer, who was currently disguised as a trader back in the middle of the group, had anticipated that they might be stopped, and had made appropriate preparations. Lars pulled a rolled parchment from a satchel and held it toward the Sentinel. His hand didn't even tremble too badly.

The icy creation settled to the ground, crossing its front paws and bringing its head down to where its eyes were just a bit above Lars's level. **{{ You know you have nothing to fear, assuming you are, indeed, who you claim to be. Our Lady Queen, may she be ever blessed, has set us to protect this land. This, only, is our task. We are not base brigands, to terrorize innocent citizens. }}** It lifted its head slightly and gazed out over the rest of the 'traders'. **{{ One must wonder why it takes such a large group of men to guard five brace of wagons. }}**

Lars was still trying to absorb the idea of this obviously magical creature speaking in his mind. He wasn't making much headway. _This thing is giving me its thoughts. How is this possible?_ Then he licked his lips and said, "The, um, manifest … Right, the manifest has, um, you can see." He was still holding it out toward the Sentinel.

 **{{ Our Lady Queen created us for a limited range of purpose. }}** It held up one massive paw. Expressed three nigh-unbreakable, razor-edged claws somewhat longer than Lars's hand. **{{ She did not anticipate that we would need to hold or read something as delicate as your parchment. Perhaps you should read it to me. }}**

It took Lars most of two minutes to read down the long list. He rolled it back up and held it to his chest.

 **{{ So … only about half is in the wagons. The rest, the men are carrying in their packs? }}**

Lars nodded vigorously. "Right! Exactly."

 **{{ Very well. You have many things of value. }}** It got to its feet, that long tail whipping around. **{{ We have learned of late of the existence of a military force on its way to this fair kingdom. To be quite sure you may travel unmolested, I will escort you to the City. }}**

Lars almost spilled the beans at that 'military force' comment. "Oh. Um, but we're not … Oh! … escort. Right. Ah, thank you, but, ah, we won't get to the City today. We were planning to find a place to camp and-"

 **{{ Even better. I have been told of an excellent such spot. We can get there well before dusk. Let us depart. }}** It turned and trotted down the path, paused, looked back at them, and gave its tail a flick, absently chopping a sapling off an ell above the ground. **{{ Are you coming? }}**

"Um, sure. Of-of course." Lars looked back at the main body of men, raised his arm, and made a quick circular motion. One of the other lead men, a farrier named Karl, came up beside him and asked, "By Hell's pits, what was all that?"

Still wrestling with his own incredulity, Lars sighed and said, "It was talking to me."

"… Talking."

"Talking."

"I didn't hear anything."

"It was talking in my head."

His friend grinned. "Kinda early in the day to be drunk, Lars."

"Fine. I'll let _you_ talk to it next time."

They walked in silence for a bit. Karl gestured toward the huge beast. "It gonna lead the way or something?"

"Yeah, something like that. Said it knew a place we could camp."

One of the mercenary sergeants had worked his way up to them by then. He tapped Lars on the arm and whispered, "Thought you were supposed to get us _past_ them, not get them to _tag along!"_

"It wasn't up to me! You want to argue with it, be my guest. All we were _promised_ when the Queen put these _things_ on us was that we wouldn't be attacked if we had one. If it wants to be helpful, I don't have any reason to tell it otherwise." He nodded his head in the creature's direction. "So far, it's only wanted to help. Maybe we can give it the slip later, or maybe … I don't know, destroy it? It's made of ice. Likely fire would melt it."

"Or a cannon ball blow it apart," muttered the sergeant.

"Yeah, that, too."

Karl asked, "Is it going with us all the way to Arendelle? I thought they were supposed to guard specific areas."

"Do I look like an expert in nightmarish magical ice monsters?"

"Oh, Hell's hinges, settle down! I'm just as freaked out as you are." He stared at the Sentinel as it ambled along. "That Arendelle could come to this. Monsters roaming free."

The other two nodded agreement.

The Sentinel, meanwhile, was having its own conversation.

{{ I will come and aid you! }}

 **{{ Yes, that would be welcome. }}**

{{ Will you lead them to the capitol today? Can they move that quickly? }}

 **{{ No, I am leading them to a small valley where they may make camp. Counting you, four of our number are even now on the way to rendezvous. That should be plenty to assure a safe passage. }}**

{{ You are wise. }}

 **{{ It is our duty. We shall protect Our Lady's land. }}**

{{ We shall. }}

Another Sentinel chimed in. _{{ I heard you needed help. Where should I go? }}_

 **{{ Ah. Now there will be six of us. Excellent. }}**

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _10:30am_

Josef Sundberg gained the plateau of the high pass and looked down into the eastern reaches of Arendelle, and what was left of the invasion force's most recent campsite.

He moved along and soon came to the main camp area, where he looked around for a fire ring. Dismounting, he used a stick to poke up the blackened remains, held a hand over it, and stuck a finger into the middle: still warm. Nodding to himself as he wiped off the soot, he remounted and urged his horse on faster. Assuming the army had been on the move since seven, certainly no more than a few hours separated them now. In any case, he had to get out of this high upland region and down to where his mount could get some water if he didn't want to find himself walking by mid-afternoon.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _1:20pm_

Carlos stirred. Opened his eyes. Sat up.

"Your Highness."

"Grandpabbie! Is she-"

"She is exactly as you left her, save for being somewhat cleaner. Bulda insisted on giving her a sponge bath, and wrapping her in fresh sheets."

The Spaniard gained his feet and was at his wife's side in three strides. He brushed a careful hand down her cheek, noting in passing the magical glow he had picked up from the ley line. "So. No change."

"She has locked herself away. Fear has finally become her enemy."

With a grunt, Carlos acknowledged that. Elsa had told him a bit about her first meeting with the trolls, and how badly her father had misinterpreted that caveat. _Truly, communication is the key to most of life's problems_ , he thought. "Do you, um, have any new ideas for helping her? My dreams were … unhelpful."

"I believe I do."

The Prince's head whipped around. "Really? What? What do I do? Anything, any effort, any-"

"Calm."

Forcing a few deep breaths, Carlos gained a measure of composure. "Calm. Yes. Sorry."

"First, you must eat." The old troll indicated a large bowl on a nearby shelf.

"But …"

"What you will need to do will take time, possibly quite a bit of it. We don't need you falling over from hunger during the effort."

"… Okay. That makes sense." He _was_ hungry, and the smell of the stew made him swallow a couple times. It was the work of but a few minutes until the bowl was empty.

"Very good," commented Pabbie. "Now. I went over what you had tried before. Many times. I think I may have found the answer, and it is love."

Carlos's mouth dropped open. "Uh … but … I _do_ love her! I love her more than _anything!_ She's all I-"

Pabbie held up a hand to stop him. "Yes. I know. That is what _you_ feel. But, tell me, what does _she_ feel? Imprisoned in her own mind, hiding from pain, with all her defenses aimed at keeping others out, what do you think it feels like to her when you try to batter down her walls? Does it feel like love? Or does it feel like an attack? Look at it from her current perspective."

He leaned his fists against the table, staring down at the woman who completed his world. "I am an idiot."

"You were panicked, and understandably so. It took me a time of meditation to realize the issue, and I am outside of it, capable of viewing it with less passion. You are a man of action, of battle, of easily-defined results. You weren't in a position to do that sort of analysis."

"Okay. So, what must … how do I do this?"

"You must bring your positive feelings for her to the fore. You must wrap her in a soft blanket of your love. Rather than fighting her walls, let them soak in your love. Let your love seep in gently. I feel this will be the quickest way to let her know it is you trying to get to her, and not that … _thing_ from the Hand. If she comes to realize it is you, she may come out. But it may take time. You cannot hurry this. The heart is not easily persuaded."

The tall man nodded in understanding. "I think I see now." He climbed up beside Elsa, cuddled her, and concentrated on his love for her. His admiration of her. His hopes for their future. Clearing his mind of everything else …

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _4:20pm_

Breaking out into a flat, grassy clearing, the three Sentinels leading the 'trading company' trotted away to quickly survey the surroundings. Half a minute later, one Sent to Lars. **{{ This is the place. No one else is near. There is running water along the north side just through those trees, and these hills will protect your fires from the wind. }}**

Lars gave it a shaky bow. "You have our thanks. We are in your debt."

 **{{ Oh, none of that. Merely doing our job. }}** It moved off to join the other two. The men began to move in and look for likely camping spots.

A quarter of an hour later, the mercenaries were further perturbed by the appearance of a fourth Sentinel. Two of the sergeants came up to Captain Mayer. "Sir."

He pulled his gaze away from the icy creatures and faced them, dropping into parade rest. "Gentlemen."

"Sir, can we fight those things? I was reasonably sure we could destroy – or at least disable – that first one with the cannon. But now there are four of them. Four obvious death machines, and every one bigger than my horse. And they can probably speak to each other's minds, if what Lars says is true, so trying to take them one by one won't work."

"I have been studying on this," answered their commander. "We will have to use stealth rather than brute force. To that end, once camp is set up, I will require all my officers to assemble in my tent for instructions."

His confidence gave theirs a boost. "Aye, Sir! I will pass the word."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _4:30pm_

Emil Sorensen, the Archduke of Bergen, had been, if not a friend, at least an admirer of King Agdar of Arendelle. They had known each other fairly well; Emil had attended the celebration of the birth of each of Arendelle's Princesses. He had even toyed with the idea of suggesting a match between Adam, his youngest son, and Elsa, though the boy was nearly twelve when she was born. That decision was taken out of his hands when Adam eloped with Amelie Duprez, the green-eyed daughter of the Duchess of Trent, two weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday. Emil couldn't really complain, though: Trent made an excellent trading partner, and Amelie had produced four utterly beautiful grandchildren. Still, he had mourned the passing of the King and Queen, and had maintained close trading ties during Elsa's Regency, and afterward.

The Archduke was a robust and active man, for all that he had recently celebrated his sixty-second birthday. He still made it his weekly duty to ride to one of his several outposts for inspection, a habit that earned him the respect of his soldiers. This week, he had chosen the garrison overlooking the fjord on his southern border.

Topping a hill, he pulled up and gazed across the fjord to contemplate the latest addition to Arendelle's defenses. The stark white tower bristled with protective … spears? blades? Whatever that spiky ring was below the tower's upper level. That tower intrigued him, nearly as much as did the Prince Consort of Arendelle. Carlos had come to visit him personally to ask (not demand) permission to build the redoubt currently overlooking the entrance to the fjord. He had readily explained its nature and intent to the Archduke, which made the man wonder briefly about the Spaniard's sanity. But Emil decided to humor him.

It was deceptively small, for all the claims the Prince had made of its purpose, and the Archduke was contemplating asking for a demonstration, just to settle his mind. If Carlos wasn't spinning the biggest tall tale in Europe, Bergen should be pleased to have this bit of aid in policing the fjord. Emil chuckled and shook his head, making a _tchk-tchk_ sound and urging his horse forward.

The Archduke didn't make surprise inspections. Each garrison had a week's notice of his visits. He wanted them alert and prepared, not fearful of summary punishment for some minor infraction, and therefore gave them plenty of time to make sure their facilities and personnel were in good order. Thus, when he approached the small fort, an honor guard awaited him. The Captain stepped up and made a low bow. "Your Grace! Welcome."

"Thank you, Captain Møller." Glancing at the brilliant blue sky, he continued, "We should have plenty of time to go over the main areas before dusk, I would think."

"Indeed, Your Grace. Everything is ready for your inspection."

"Excellent."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _5:10pm_

The inspection was going quite swimmingly, in the Captain's estimation. Thus far his fort had garnered nothing but praise from the Archduke, and he didn't expect that to change. So, it was with more than a bit of irritation that he noted one of the sentries frantically waving to him. "Excuse me, Your Grace. There appears to be an issue I need to address." _That soldier will be on latrine duty for a_ _month_ _if this interruption is anything but dire!_

"Very well. I shall accompany you."

Captain Møller bit his lip and nodded, silently upping the ante to two months if that sentry didn't have a damned good story. They mounted the battlements and walked to the edge …

The Archduke muttered, "Damn. That little martinet is actually going through with it."

Five large warships, each bearing the flag of Weselton, were sailing into the fjord's mouth. They had their gunports open, and dozens of yawning, black muzzles would shortly be lining up on their position. A pair of light schooners trailed them by a quarter-league.

"Lieutenant, run the cannon up!" shouted Captain Møller.

A flurry of activity soon had a dozen long-range thirty-six pounders lined up and ready to go.

The Gunnery Sergeant hollered, "The first sign you see they might be wantin' to fire, give the bastards Hell!"

Captain Møller observed, "Looks to me as if they're aiming at the far shore, not ours."

"Aye," said the Lieutenant, "they'd be at the top end of their range if they tried hitting us."

True to expectations, the lead ship's first volley soared straight toward the slim, white tower across the water.

The answering fire brought every man watching to a dead stop.

* * *

Coastal Defense Installation 27's three-man team had been marking the approaching ships for most of the last hour, discussing amongst themselves their response.

"Five warships, Ole? You think that's a _good_ sign? Come on!"

"They might want to parley," insisted Ole. "Do you want to sink a ship that isn't attacking? You think Queen Elsa would appreciate that?"

"We can't let 'em by, no way," answered Thom. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Like I said before, we gotta defend the village. Those are ships-of-the-line. They'd tear the town to shreds."

The third man, Arndt, nodded agreement. "It's what we're here for. You know Captain Jørgen-"

"Okay, I know, I know. But that's why the Queen stuck this tower on the farthest-west point of rock, so we'd have time to make sure. Right?"

Slow nods answered him. They walked over and leaned on the railing again, watching the ships get closer. Thom's mouth drew down in a grim line. "They've run their guns out."

"Aye. That's it, then," said Ole with a resigned sigh. He really didn't want to kill anyone, but his first duty was to Arendelle. He climbed into the gun-seat. Thom handed him a charge, which he dropped into the oversized rifle's breech. He lined up on the leading ship's mainmast.

The dull booms of the cannon arrived just before the multiple-ricochet tattoo of iron balls bouncing off the tower wall. Ole grimaced and pressed the trigger.

* * *

Captain Møller breathed, "Holy Mother of God."

The Archduke gripped the top of the curtain wall hard, trying to convince himself his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him. The battle, if one wished to call it that, had lasted about thirty-five seconds. All five ships were on fire and disabled, broken masts lying across the decks or trailing in the water; in two, the powder magazines had exploded. Those were going down like rocks. Lifeboats and drowning sailors spread out around the carnage.

"Stand down," called the Lieutenant, whereupon the men began the arduous task of unloading the large cannon. Still, it was better than getting shot at. A whole lot better.

The Archduke called for a long glass, and presently was examining the walls of the white tower: nothing. No cracks, no chips, not even a mark. He lowered the glass and huffed a deep breath, then muttered, "Dear God."

"Your Grace?"

He glanced at the Captain. "Yes?"

"We have a mutual support treaty with Arendelle, correct?"

"That is correct."

"And you're on good terms with Queen Elsa?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"Thank God."

"Indeed."

Møller turned and got the Lieutenant's attention. "Have a brace of boats set to after any sailors that don't drown."

"Yes, sir!" He trotted off.

Captain and Archduke stood side by side, each with hands clasped in the small of his back. The older man said, "I feel sorry for those poor sailors."

"Your Grace? They _did_ attack first. I suspect they were intending to sack that village. Why feel sorry for them when they got what they deserved?" _Even if there was no way in Hell they could have anticipated that response._

He gave a shrug. "Oh, you're quite right, if you're speaking of the officers. But soldiers and sailors don't make the plans; they follow orders. It isn't their fault their Duke is a vindictive ass."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _5:20pm_

The area where the Swedish forces had entered Arendelle was about three steps shy of 'trackless waste'. Certainly, there were no villages in this inhospitable place. That meant there was no regular Sentinel presence here; their duties lay elsewhere. However, there _were_ infrequent patrols, and it was just such a patrolling creature that happened across the trail.

The icy guardian padded to the middle of the trampled area. Looked back to the east. Turned west. Growled softly. Flicked an ear back east. Bounded off into the dense bushes south of the trail.

Topping a hill at a fast trot, the King's courier peered into the distance. He really thought he should have caught up with them by now; they must be pushing hard to maintain this pace. Taking no notice of his immediate surroundings since he was pushing himself as well, he was badly startled when his horse stopped, shied, and nearly bucked.

{{ Who are you? }}

This, it may be said, was beyond the man's experience. Though he guessed what it was instantly, the thing that had landed suddenly and silently in front of him would haunt his dreams for many nights to come. He fought to keep his mount under control and his faculties focused. "I am Josef Sundberg." His years of handling tricky situations served him well here. "I carry a message from King Charles to Queen Elsa. I mean harm to no one."

{{ Who are those who came before you? They are many. }}

Having the creature speak to his mind was, to put it mildly, a novel experience. He forced down his fear and answered, "A force of five thousand men. I have a message, too, for their commander."

{{ And what are these messages? We understood your King picked a fight with Lady Elsa. }}

"No, it was not his idea! He was forced." He licked his lips. "Evil men who hate your Lady Queen kidnapped his granddaughter and threatened to kill her if the King did not prosecute a war with Arendelle. But Queen Elsa is aware of this, and the King has other plans. There will be no true invasion." Pausing, he frowned. "At least, there isn't _supposed_ to be. The plan was for them to wait in the pass so the Queen could contain them, and the evil men wouldn't find out about it. But they didn't." He pointed behind him. "A few hours ago I passed a group of men who were taking the Field Marshall back to Stockholm. He had apparently fallen gravely ill. But now I wonder whether someone had more to do with that than we know."

The Sentinel caught his meaning. {{ You fear that the one now leading is … what, unaware of the true plan? }}

"Possibly. I don't have enough information." He patted his saddle bag. "But I do have the King's orders here, so if I can catch them up, I can stop them going any farther. Then, I'll need to ride on to the city and deliver my message to the Queen."

That dangerous tail whipped side to side a few times. {{ Our Lady Queen has been attacked. We do not know her state now, though we have heard she was taken elsewhere for help. }}

"Attacked!? But … I thought nothing could hurt her!"

{{ It was evil magic. Powerful. Ancient. We all felt it. }}

"My word." He pondered that for a moment, then asked, "To whom should I take this message?"

{{ The Good Princess Anna is leading the kingdom until her Queen returns. }}

"Ah. Well and good. I will seek her out. But first …" He nodded westward. "I have to find the army and get my message to the commander."

{{ I will aid you. }}

"I thank you for that." He urged his horse on, and the Sentinel easily kept pace a couple of rods to his left. The deadly thing spoke no more, as far as Sundberg was concerned. He couldn't hear the conversation it was having with some of its fellows.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _5:35pm_

Colonel Arronson's scouts picked their way through the steadily denser upland scrub, looking for trails and/or opposition. So far, Arendelle had presented them with neither.

 _This is ridiculous. Aren't there any_ _ **people**_ _in this God-forsaken place? It's like we're trying to conquer some weird no-man's land._ Liam Johanssen was a four-year veteran of the King's Army, and a natural horseman, but this was his first time scouting for an invasion force. It also being his first time in Arendelle, he had no way of knowing there was no water around close, and where there is no water, typically there are no people. On either side of the army's chosen path, across the ridges, there were small streams (and one lake); but with no way to raise crops and no other reason to be there, this valley was deserted. Still, he pressed on. He had a job to do, even if he didn't think much of it.

Coming to a larger-than-normal clearing, he stopped and took his bearings. Riding almost due west put the sun in his face, but the day was clear. He could see for nearly a league … and that's when he spotted a thin, slightly-darker vertical line against the blue sky off to the northwest. _Ah, ha! That looks like a plume of smoke!_ "All right, Filip," he said to his horse, "let's see what's over that-"

He never saw the massive paw that swatted him off his mount. He flipped over twice and fetched up in a patch of gorse; the horse screamed and bolted. When his world stopped spinning and his vision cleared, his gut clenched harder than ever before in his life.

 _ **{{ Who are you, and whose uniform is this? }}**_

Liam gaped, his mind running in sixteen directions as he attempted to process the situation. The dead white thing looming over him radiated cold, freezing the sweat on his face. Its head was easily larger than his torso, the afternoon light glinting along edges on exposed fangs that looked sharp enough to make a serviceable razor.

"I'm-I'm-I'm-I'm … Um …" He swallowed hard, and squeaked, "Don't kill me?"

 _ **{{ You have no Lens. You are a foreign soldier. }}**_ It placed a paw on Liam's chest, pushed him down flat, expressed its claws, and applied enough pressure to prick his skin. _ **{{ Who are you, where is the rest of your force, and whose uniform is this? }}**_

"We're … we're part of Sweden's Army. We … our King sent … we are supposed to, um …"

A dozen extremely rapid heartbeats raced by. _**{{ Exactly what is it you are supposed to do? }}**_

"In-invade, ah, that is, um, conqu- um, take … Arendelle?"

The cold intensified. _**{{ How many are you? }}**_

Liam contemplated misdirection until one of the claws punctured his shoulder, driving into the joint. He gasped and began to sob in terror.

 _ **{{ You were about to lie to me. Such an act would not end well for you. }}**_

"Five-five thousand! A thousand cavalry and-and four thousand foot! Back … back east of here!"

"How far?"

"Maybe … half an hour's ride?" The pain in his shoulder was making it hard to think.

The monstrous thing moved back. _**{{ Stand. }}**_

Liam got slowly to his feet.

 _ **{{ You will take me to your Army. }}**_

The scout's left arm hung at his side like a dead fish, blood leaking slowly from the puncture wound. "I … don't think I … can walk … that far."

 _ **{{ I will carry you. }}**_

Liam edged away a couple of unsteady steps.

The Sentinel got back up in his face. _**{{ You can ride with me, or I can kill you here. You are the enemy. I will not leave you behind. }}**_

Nodding, Liam tried to get up on the icy back. That long, snaky tail slipped around his waist and steadied him.

 _ **{{ Try not to fall off. }}**_

The Sentinel took off toward the east at a pace that left Liam's stomach somewhere far behind.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Two hours' brisk ride south of Arendelle City_

Having been tapped as the sort-of-unofficial spokesman for the group of 'traders', Lars wasn't terribly surprised when a Sentinel trotted up to him; he assumed it was the first one he'd talked with, though he could in no wise tell them apart. "Hello."

 **{{ Some of us need to leave. I will stay with you. }}**

"Oh! Um … okay. That's … uh, that's fine. Honestly, we figured we'd be safe anyway. We do have a goodly number of mounted guards."

 **{{ Yes. But your guards would be insufficient to protect you from an army. }}**

The man had to blink at that a few times. "Army? What do you mean?"

 **{{ An invasion force has entered Arendelle from the east. We had been afraid of something like this happening, and now it has. My fellow Sentinels are on the way to aid in the defense of Lady Elsa's kingdom. I will stay with you, as this is my part of the land to protect. }}**

"Oh. Huh. I … um, I see. My goodness. An army? From where?"

 **{{ Sweden. We will stop them. }}**

 _I'll just bet you will. And that will keep you far away from us!_ "Very well. Arendelle City is fairly close, isn't it? From here, I mean?"

 **{{ If you break camp at sunrise, we should arrive well before mid-day. }}**

"Ah. Good. Um, very good. Thank you, I will, um, pass that along."

The Sentinel gave him a brief nod and moved to the northern edge of the camp. Lars scampered off to tell Captain Mayer this bit of good news.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Valley of the Living Rock, 7:10pm_

Grandpabbie raised his head when Carlos stirred. He rose and walked over. Placing a heavy hand on the human's shoulder, he rumbled, "Did you find her?"

Carlos didn't say anything at first, instead studying his wife's face. He pushed up on an elbow, stroked a tender finger along her jawline. "Maybe. I think so? I … went into the astral plane. I've been able to see … well, more, that way. I think I found the wall she raised. I … sat, I guess, with my back against it. Tried to let her feel my love. That's not really a very good description, but …"

"I understand. The concepts do not lend themselves to words."

"True." He bent and kissed her, then got to his feet. "Is there any more of that stew? This is hard work. A lot more taxing than I thought it would be."

"Of course. Then you must rest in the ley line for a bit before trying again."

"Yes." He gave a deep sigh. "That wall …"

"Could you feel her presence at all?"

"I did. But … she's scared. So scared." He wiped at his eyes. Squared his shoulders. "I'll get through to her. I have to. Love will win. I'm not letting her go."

"I believe you. Now," He pointed at the entrance to his cave. "the stewpot is over the fire. Go. Eat."

"Yessir."

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _ **End Notes:**_

 _ **I have quite a bit more written already, but this seemed to be the best place to stop.**_

 _ **Also, I'd like to recommend a story grrlgeek72 is writing: "Long Live the Queen". It is a tale in progress, but updates regularly. So far, it's a powerful work. I expect the tension to ramp up shortly.**_

 _ **Please share your thoughts on this chapter.**_


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